


Love Can Make Us Suck Less

by theabominablesnowman



Series: Make Happy [3]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Dad!Derek, Deputy Derek Hale, Established Relationship, First Kiss (OC), Fluff, Full Shift Werewolves, Getting Together (OC), Kid Fic, Light Angst, M/M, Magic!Stiles, Minor Melissa McCall/Sheriff Stilinski, Minor Scott McCall/Kira Yukimura, Post-Canon, Scott is a Good Friend, Slice of Life, dad!stiles, full shift derek, good parenting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-05
Updated: 2018-03-05
Packaged: 2019-03-27 04:52:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 26,183
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13873539
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theabominablesnowman/pseuds/theabominablesnowman
Summary: Being fourteen years old and a werewolf sucks, but good parents can help along the way.*This won't make any sense on its own :)





	Love Can Make Us Suck Less

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to @Reaping, Jenn, for being there from the very beginning until the very end, loyally listening to me whine and indulging this whole endeavor. This one took a long time, but I really couldn't leave these guys alone. Hopefully you maybe kinda missed them too.
> 
> I'd also like to thank all you readers, it's been awesome to see you keep coming, more than I can say.

 

 

 

Stiles watches Derek narrow his eyes when Oliver walks in after his baseball practice with an actual skip in his step. Melissa picked him up and dropped him off at home on her way to work, and Stiles figures that if she knows something, she’ll text them. He starts doing some internal math about it but looks at Derek to see what he’s thinking before he says anything. He’s itching to ask, though.

 

“What’s up?” Stiles asks as casually as he can, which isn’t very casual at all. He couldn’t wait too long.

 

“Nothing,” Oliver smiles brightly at him, shrugs, and walks upstairs to get rid of his backpack and baseball bag. He comes back down and drops into what has recently become Rocco’s armchair, still grinning like a loon. “What’s for dinner?”

 

“Looks like more than nothing,” Derek says, completely ignoring the last question, eyes still narrowed. He crosses his arms over his chest like he always does when he’s trying to scare Oliver. It never works - Stiles’ glowing tattoos always work better than that. Derek not-so-secretly hates it. The arms are impressive, but Derek is the softest of marshmallows and Oliver is well aware of it, has been since the very first day he was aware of manipulation.

 

“Got a good grade on that history paper,” Oliver says distractedly. He checks his phone, and looks like he’s hoping Derek won’t call him out on his lie, but Stiles gets there first.

 

“You got that grade three days ago,” Stiles points out. “I check the school app every day.” He does that to make sure Oliver isn’t skipping class.

 

Oliver’s face crumples with disgruntlement. “Stalker,” he accuses. “Can’t I like… I don’t know, have privacy?”

 

“Not in this house,” Stiles smirks at him. Oliver groans.

 

“I have a date with Emily.” Oliver rolls his eyes very distinctly, to let them know just how unhappy with them he is.

 

“Careful those don’t roll out of your head. Had to fix dad once,” Stiles jokes.

 

“Gross.”

 

“So who’s Emily?” Derek asks. He too, tries to sound casual, but fails miserably. He sounds more excited than suspicious, though, which Stiles finds adorable.

 

“She’s in my science class.”

 

“Smart?” Stiles asks.

 

“Yeah, super smart.” Oliver sighs so dreamily Stiles has to stop himself from laughing. Derek is biting his lip. Stiles loses the battle against a snort that he manages to hide in a cough, but both he and Derek are working hard to fight off grins.

 

“You’re gonna break little Alice’s heart,” Stiles teases. Alice is Lydia’s three year old daughter, who’s basically in love with Oliver. She already asked him to marry her during her last visit in Beacon Hills during the summer break and he said he’ll think about it. Alice made him wear an engagement ring she made him during their entire month long visit. Stiles figures she’d probably forgotten about it, being three years old, but Oliver has it sitting on one of his bookshelves as decoration. It’s bright green with pink dots on it, because those were Alice’s favorite colors at the time.

 

“It’s not like we’re going steady or whatever,” Oliver says defensively, crossing his arms over his chest. His ears are turning a tell-tale red, just like Derek’s do. Stiles figures Oliver had considered the concept of going steady with someone. “Just the one date. And we haven’t even gone yet.” He shrugs.

 

“I wasn’t serious, yeah?” Stiles says, smiling. “Tell us some more about Emily, hm?” He leans back against the back of the couch, Derek’s arm wrapping absently around his shoulders, warm and grounding.

 

“She’s kinda taller than me, and she plays the cello? She’s pretty, I guess. She’s really popular too? I mean I kind of am too, but we don’t really hang in the same crowd,” Oliver says, listing things slowly, like he’s thinking about them as he goes, a little uncertain.

 

“Then how did the date happen?” Derek asks. He seems really invested. Stiles is amused. This isn’t the first time Oliver has been interested in a girl, but he usually won’t share much, and it _is_ the first time he’ll be going on an actual date, which Derek seems to be really excited about.

 

“She started sitting next to me in class and talking to me about things and I asked Jesse, and he said that she probably likes me. And I like her! I think. So I asked her out, and she said yes.” Oliver grins again. Jesse is his go-to secret keeper and his source for advice, being a whole year older and also in high school already.

 

“That’s cool, bud. Got a game plan yet?” Stiles asks.

 

Oliver’s eyes go wide, and he looks like he’s panicking. “I didn’t really think of that. I should text her, right?”

 

“You could even _call_ , that’d be really exotic.” Derek huffs, shaking his head.

 

“Seriously dad, nobody _calls_ anymore. What century are you living in?” Oliver gives him a disdainful look. His phone pings with a text message, and he raises his eyebrows

 

“I don’t know, the one where super-senses are an advantage werewolves should utilize,” Derek says with heavy sarcasm.

 

“That’s not cool to do.” Oliver frowns. He’s been pretty vocal about being fair to non-supernatural people lately, and Stiles hasn’t managed to fish out what the catalyst is yet. “She doesn’t even know about the werewolf thing. She likes werewolf movies though,” he says, looking like he’s being the reasonable one and Derek is overreacting.

 

“I should certainly hope she doesn’t know,” Stiles says with an edge. Stiles rode that particular roller coaster twice and has no intention of doing it again.

 

“Dad, it’s not going to be like Dylan and Tyler,” Oliver whines, dragging the first word dramatically, sliding down like he’s melting on the chair with his desperation.

 

“Oh? Are you _sure_?”

 

“Yeah, I’ve gotten much better with the whole anchor thing,” Oliver promises. Stiles doesn’t look like he trusts it. “I’m serious! Haven’t flashed my eyes once during the _entire_ game last week. And not at lacrosse either!”

 

“I still can’t believe you play lacrosse,” Stiles huffs quietly. “I’m not going to kidnap another classmate of yours for damage control,” he warns next.

 

“Stiles, I know I’m the Sheriff, but that _really_ can’t be your solution ever again.” Derek sighs.

 

“What would you have done?” Stiles asks, angry.

 

“Literally _anything else,_ ” Derek replies, rolling his eyes. “You’re lucky it worked out and that he -” Derek points at Oliver, “- is a beta, because we could have had another _Liam case_ on our hands.”

 

“Shut up, nothing’s gonna happen. It’s. One. Date.” Oliver enunciates sharply, cranky. “And what’s the deal with Liam?” He adds, curious.

 

“Liam turned out just fine,” Stiles protests weakly.

 

“Yeah, now that he’s in his thirties,” Derek mutters. “And the deal with Liam is none of your business,” he adds after a beat.

 

“GUYS! It’s fine. You know I’m awesome.” Oliver shouts, startling Rocco who was sitting at his feet. “Why is Liam’s deal none of my business?” He narrows his eyes, curious.

 

Derek and Stiles sigh in unison. “Guess you’re not wrong,” Stiles admits. Oliver chucks a cushion at him and Stiles manages to avoid being hit by it. Derek gets it in the chest instead.

 

“It’s just a date, and it’s going to be really awesome.”

 

“Yeah, yeah. We’re just assholes. And, you know, have reasons to worry,” Stiles says with a smile, and Derek snorts.

 

“Sure, okay, now explain the deal with Liam,” Oliver demands.

 

“Well, no,” Stiles says conversationally.

 

“Fine, no more details about Emily then,” Oliver huffs.

 

“Baby, trust me, your middle school romance is cute but definitely not a bartering chip for any of that,” Stiles chuckles, leaning back against the sofa’s backrest, where Derek’s arm wraps around him easily again.

 

“Your secrets _suck_ ,” Oliver says emphatically, throwing his arms up.

 

“They sure do,” Stiles agrees, pointing finger-guns at Oliver.

 

“Trust us on that.” Derek nods.

 

“Fine, whatever. I’m hungry. Food please.” Oliver sighs, defeated. “I was being athletic and shit, protein, yeah?”

 

Derek stands, stroking Stiles’ back on his way up. “In the mood for something particular? We _are_ celebrating you getting a date with Emily,” he teases. Stiles snorts.

 

“Why do you have to ruin everything,” Oliver whines. It’s been a recurring thing ever since he hit puberty.

 

“We really hate when you’re too happy.” Derek winks and Oliver laughs despite himself.

 

 

*-*-*-*

 

 

“So how did the date go?” Jesse asks excitedly when Oliver comes over the day after his first date with Emily and they’re sitting in his room, Oliver on a huge, dark blue bean bag, Jesse cross-legged on the bed.

 

“It was nice, I guess? I think she wanted to kiss me at the end but I kinda freaked out and kissed her on the cheek instead?” Oliver sounds uncertain and a little sad. “But she texted me today and said she wants to go on another date so I guess it wasn’t a complete disaster.” He shrugs, digging himself deeper into the bean bag.

 

“Why’d you freak out?” Jesse leans back against the wall, looking pensive, curious. A little… grumpy, which Oliver doesn’t really understand.

 

“I don’t know, I’ve never kissed anyone before, and I didn’t want to like, suck, or something,” Oliver rambles, shrinking into the bean bag, letting it swallow his lanky form up.

 

“Hey, man, everyone sucks at their first kiss. Practice makes perfect and all that shit,” Jesse says with confidence.

 

“Yeah but Emily’s like… dated other guys. Dylan said he heard she got to second base with that douchebag from the basketball team,” Oliver sighs, throwing his head back dramatically.

 

“Okay, but she likes _you_ now, so maybe she _won’t care_?” Jesse offers, shrugging. He talks slowly like Oliver is stupid.

 

“Okay but what if she _does care_ and she’ll tell everyone in the school and I’ll have to move to a different _town_?” Oliver feels some panic building up so he slows down and takes a few deep breaths. Jesse gets off the bed and crouches in front of him, placing both hands on Oliver’s shoulders so he can pull him out from his dugout in the bean bag and look him in the eye.

 

“Then she sucks and she’s an asshole and you don’t need people like that in your life anyway,” Jesse assures him. “And you definitely won’t need to move to a different town,” he adds as an afterthought.

 

“You sound like old people,” Oliver huffs and pushes him away.

 

“Yeah, wise.” Jesse agrees. “Dude, my dad says _your_ dad was the biggest nerd ever. They kinda both were, until the werewolf thing happened. Lydia refused to date him for _ages_. He was a total loser until Derek showed up. Like, zero game. And like, look at him now. He landed Derek!” He raises his arms and shrugs, like he’s proved his point.

 

“What, _exactly_ , is your point.” Oliver says curtly, not sure if he’s angry because Jesse just dissed his dad to that extent or because he was pretty sure he was comparing their situations, or maybe because it sounded like he thinks his dads are attractive in some twisted way, which is gross.

 

“My point is that if Stiles didn’t leave the town after his high school experience, I’m sure you won’t have to either if you suck at your first kiss in middle school,” Jesse says reasonably, sitting down.

 

Oliver considers this for a moment and then he sits up straight, basically jumping out of the bean bag. It’s an impressive feat, considering how deeply he was buried in it, and he’s privately proud. “You should help me practice!” he points at Jesse, who looks offensively bewildered by the concept, like the thought of kissing Oliver is absolutely terrifying.

 

“No way, man,” Jesse says, shaking his head.

 

“Why not? It doesn’t mean anything and you’ve kissed, like, I don’t know? Is it five girls? It’s a perfect idea.” Oliver sulks a little.

 

“Because I don’t kiss fourteen-year-old middle-schoolers,” Jesse shrugs, and Oliver narrows his eyes. “And I only kissed two girls.”

 

“Don’t be an asshole, you’re just a year older,” Oliver shoves at his shoulder, still a little offended. “Sorry I wasn’t keeping count,” he apologizes sarcastically.

 

“Dude, no, it has to come naturally. It’ll be fine, just don’t think about it too hard,” Jesse tries to dismiss Oliver’s concerns, to no avail.

 

“No, you _just_ said practice makes perfect _and all that shit_ ,” Oliver flings back Jesse’s own words.

 

“You’re not my type,” Jesse jokes, smirking.

 

Oliver leans back, drowning a little in the bean bag, looking surprised. “That was a lie.” He frowns, confused. A worried and… annoyed, possibly, expression flashes on Jesse’s face but it’s gone before Oliver can register why. Jesse was always a little pissed because Oliver figured out how to tell when someone’s lying when they were tiny and Jesse took a bit longer, so he assumes it’s that.

 

“I was joking, you ass. Of course it sounded like a lie.” Jesse shoves at Oliver’s shoulder and gets up to sit on the bed again.

 

“So… I… _am_ your type?” Oliver says, deeply suspicious and pensive. As far as he is aware, Jesse is straight, but his parents’ voices float around in his brain saying to never assume. He shrugs it off.

 

“ _No_ , buttface. I’m not into fourteen-year-olds, I told you that already. Especially not werewolf ones who have zero control of their limbs,” Jesse teases, smirking at Oliver, who relaxes a little.

 

“I’m _getting better!_ I play baseball! And lacrosse!” Oliver protests loudly, folding his arms over his chest defensively.

 

“My dad says that if you’re anything like Stiles you’ll never get better.” Jesse outright laughs, head falling back. Oliver watches Jesse’s neck and tilts his head, wondering why that even attracted his attention. He then replays Jesse’s comment about his dad and huffs, offended again.

 

“Shut up, he _definitely_ got better. _Your_ _dad’s_ terrified of him.” Oliver frowns angrily. He’s the only one who gets to make fun of his lame nerdy dads.

 

“I mean, duh, so is everyone else on the planet. Doesn’t mean he suddenly got better at coordinating his limbs when he’s not… you know -” Jesse stops mid-sentence to wave his hands in a ‘jazz-hands’ kind of way, and Oliver rolls his eyes.

 

“Magic, it’s magic.”

 

“Yeah, yeah, your dad is the pack’s very own pet Harry Potter.” Jesse rolls his eyes right back, nodding along to cut off a speech he’s very familiar with.

 

“I can’t believe you referenced that, you’re like a hundred years old.” Oliver wrinkles his nose with distaste.

 

“Harry Potter is a classic and does not indicate oldness in any way,” Jesse huffs indignantly.

 

“Yeah, you keep telling yourself that.” Oliver nods. “So. Practice kissing with me.”

 

“What? _No_ , we’ve gone over that!” Jesse protests, hitting the bed with his hands.

 

“Help. A. Brother. Out.” Oliver bends himself in half, head going between his knees to indicate how desperate he is.

 

“You don’t kiss brothers,” Jesse says quietly, shrugging.

 

Oliver flings himself back again dramatically, kicking a leg out to hit Jesse’s. “You know what I meant!”

 

“Oliver. Just let it go,” Jesse says tightly.

 

“What’s your deal, it literally means nothing. It’s just kissing,” Oliver shrugs, a little disappointed.

 

“I think dinner’s ready, we should go downstairs,” Jesse says instead of answering, getting up from the bed, holding a hand out to help Oliver out of the bean bag.

 

“No… Pretty sure your mom would have called us down.” Oliver frowns with confusion.

 

“She did.” Jesse says curtly, rolling his eyes as Oliver takes his hand and he pulls him up.

 

“Bro. Werewolf,” Oliver says, pointing at himself, specifically at his ears, then runs his fingers down the shell of his left one self-consciously. He’s not a fan of them. His dads keep saying he’ll grow into them but for now he still hates them a little. “She did not say a word.”

 

“It’s a kitsune thing,” Jesse says, shoving Oliver bodily out of the room and walking ahead of him.

 

“That… was a seriously terrible lie. The food isn’t even done cooking yet!” Oliver accuses after a short sniff at the air, still frowning at Jesse’s back, following him nonetheless.

 

Jesse groans and stops in his tracks to look up, taking a deep breath. “Let it go, buttface.” His eyes flash yellow, angry, and Oliver flinches. Jesse never really loses control. He’s better at it than Oliver, because Oliver has a shorter temper and can turn into a real wolf, which means the border between human and wolf is a little fuzzier than it would usually be. It’s also apparently confusing because he’s not supposed to know how to do that in the first place.

 

“ _Fine_ ,” Oliver says, in a way that they both know means that he will do the exact opposite.

 

When they walk into the kitchen Kira gives them a confused look. “I didn’t call you guys down.”

 

Oliver blinks and gives Jesse a pointed look. “Jesse said it was _a kitsune thing_ .” Jesse shoves him away and stands behind him, so Oliver can’t see the way he’s shaking his head desperately at his mom, but he does see Kira’s eyes widen before she nods, and senses anxiety coming off of Jesse in waves. “Was _that_ a kitsune thing?” he asks sarcastically.

 

“No, that was a parent thing.” Kira smiles at Oliver like she’s keeping a secret, and Oliver hates secrets.

 

“Jesse’s been really weird today,” He accuses instead of calling her out. He knows better than trying to trick a kitsune into telling him something they don’t want to share.

 

“Oh yeah?” Scott asks casually as he walks into the kitchen, kissing Kira absently on the cheek. He’s still in his vet scrubs, which are light blue with drawings of puppies on the shirt.

 

“Super evasive.” Oliver elaborates, hoping he could instead fool Scott into cooperation. But Scott looks at Jesse, who’s suddenly blushing, still smelling like anxiety.

 

“He’s got a surprise for you,” Scott says, and he tries to make it sound casual, but he’s really terrible at it.

 

“ _DAD!_ ” Jesse explodes. He never does that. He shifts into his beta form for a second, and immediately schools his face back to normal, chewing on his bottom lip.

 

“Whoa,” Oliver exclaims quietly. “Okay, whatever it is, I’m backing off.” He raises his hands in surrender.

 

“ _Finally_ ,” Jesse sighs loudly.

 

“Jesse likes you,” Brandon pipes up as he sits at the dinner table, sounding bored out of his mind.

 

“I mean, we’re best friends, I definitely hope he does,” Oliver shrugs, and all the McCalls wince together, which Oliver doesn’t notice, busy sniffing one of the pots on the stove. Jesse collapses in his usual chair and buries his head in his hands. He kicks Brandon under the table with a whole lot of force after a beat.

 

“I thought your family was supposed to be the smart ones,” Brandon says, and Oliver frowns at him, confused.

 

“What the fuck -” Kira flicks Oliver’s ear to cut him off. She doesn’t appreciate it when he swears. “What is that supposed to mean?” He corrects himself, rubbing at his ear distractedly. It stings for another few seconds and then disappears.

 

“ _Nothing,_ just that Brandon’s a jackass.” Kira flicks Jesse’s ear too. “ _Ow_ , mom!” He turns and looks at her, offended, and when she just raises an eyebrow at him he drops his head back down. “Dad, can we take him back to the hospital and get a different one? Maybe start with a new baby,” Jesse glances at Scott with one eye, barely turning his head.

 

“No, I think the refund option expired about twelve years ago,” Scott says lightly.

 

“You’re an idiot,” Brandon says meaningfully.

 

“And you’re an asshole who needs to _keep his mouth shut_ ,” Jesse whisper-shouts dangerously. Oliver doesn’t notice anything different because Jesse and his brother fight all the time. It’s like background noise.

 

“BOYS! That’s enough,” Kira hits her hand on the table between Jesse and Brandon, ending that line of conversation. She places the food on the table and sits down, giving Brandon a sharp look. Dinner is a little awkward at first, but Scott tells a story about a puppy peeing all over their owner and that breaks the tension.

 

 

*-*-*-*

 

 

When Derek picks Oliver up from Scott and Kira’s house later that evening, Oliver looks pensive as he sits down in the passenger seat of the police cruiser. Derek decides to wait him out - Oliver usually spills when he needs to.

 

“Something’s up with Jesse.” Oliver says eventually, just as they’re pulling away from the McCall’s street, like he was waiting to be absolutely sure they were outside of any possible hearing range of them.

 

“Did you guys fight?” Derek glances at Oliver to gauge what he’s thinking, because the chemo signals are confusing.

 

“No?” Oliver looks up at Derek, frowning. “I don’t think so,” he amends. “They were all weird. Everything was _weird_. I asked Jesse to do something stupid and he freaked out like I offended his entire family three generations back.” Oliver raises his hands and looks over at Derek for commiseration.

 

“What did you ask him to do?” Derek asks suspiciously. He knows his kid. He knows his ideas. He knows _Stiles_. Derek wonders where he went wrong with making sure Oliver didn’t take after all the things that made Stiles… well. Those are all the things that make Stiles who he is and Derek loves them. But they’re also very exhausting as a parent. Derek sits down for drinks alone with John once a month, for commiseration and advice.

 

“Does it matter?” Oliver huffs, obviously evading.

 

“Well, maybe it does to Jesse?” Derek suggests carefully, holding in a sigh.

 

“I figured _that_ out, I just don’t get why,” Oliver shrugs, falling against the seat.

 

“Did you _talk to him_ about it?” Derek asks meaningfully.

 

“I _tried_! I totally tried, but he kept asking me to drop it and then pretended like Kira asked us to come down to dinner even though she clearly didn’t.” Oliver sounds frustrated and Derek furrows his brows as he glances at him again.

 

“Why didn’t you drop it?” Derek makes himself sound neutral and unassuming. He’s assuming, though.

 

“Because it was weird and he was acting weird and I wanted to know why he was being weird!” Oliver rambles.

 

“You could really benefit from being a little less like your father,” Derek says, exasperated. He knows the first subject of discussion for his next sit-down with John.

 

“Which one,” Oliver shoots back, elbowing Derek’s arm gently, just to make a point, but not strong enough to dislodge his hand from the wheel.

 

“The one who _isn’t_ me and _is terrible_ at letting things go.”  Derek raises a brow, looking at Oliver seriously while they stop at a red light.

 

“Aren’t you a detective? Literally your job is to not let things go?”

 

“Yes. That, however, is different than making your friends uncomfortable by bothering them about subjects they’re obviously not interested in discussing,” Derek says pointedly.

 

“You think I did something terrible but I totally didn’t,” Oliver says defensively. “It was a really stupid question. Request. Whatever.”

 

“Again, have you considered it might not be stupid to Jesse?” Derek sighs, tired. This was not what he had planned for his drive home with Oliver, because he’d been parenting the entire town all day, and he’s just about reached his upper limit.

 

“Yes, obviously his reaction meant he really didn’t like the idea, but, again, I don’t get why. He’s straight.” Oliver raises his hands again, shrugging to indicate he doesn’t understand.

 

“Whoa, what does that have to do with what you asked him to do?” Derek almost slams on the breaks as a response to that last part. That has never come up in a conversation before. Stiles and Derek didn’t want to press Oliver in either direction, so this was a surprising turn.

 

“I freaked out yesterday because I’ve never kissed anyone and I asked him to help me practice so I wouldn’t freak out on my next date with Emily.” Oliver shrugs, like that’s a totally normal thing to ask someone, but there are hints in his voice and his general posture that indicate that he’s finally figured out he’d fucked up.

 

This time Derek definitely does stop the car and parks on the side of the road. He takes a few deep breaths, rubs at his temples. He does not have the mental capacity for this after working a double, and yet, here he is. “Please tell me you didn’t,” he pleads.

 

“Why? It seriously doesn’t mean anything!” Oliver raises his voice, hackles rising defensively.

 

“Okay.” Derek turns the car back on and flips it around, going back to the McCall’s house. “You’re going to apologize when we get there.”

 

“ _For WHAT_?” Oliver yells, outraged.

 

“For being a really oblivious asshole,” Derek says. “That’s not a thing you ask your friends to do, and you especially don’t pressure them once they’ve said _no_ , Oliver Stilinski,” he elaborates.

 

“Oh, I’m Stilinski when you’re angry,” Oliver mutters darkly. “And I’m Hale when I get a home run. Double standards. Grandpa won’t stand for it,” he continues, hoping to derail Derek.

 

“You’re Stilinski when you’re being an oblivious asshole like your father,” Derek huffs. “And keep your grandpa out of it.”

 

“Oblivious to _what_ , what am I not getting?” Oliver asks desperately.

 

“It doesn’t matter! What matters is that you made your best friend uncomfortable to the point of avoiding talking to you, so you should apologize!” Derek shouts. Oliver flinches - Derek rarely raises his voice, and he’s almost never the one truly angry with him. That’s usually Stiles’ job.

 

“Okay, chill out,” Oliver says quietly, shrinking in his seat.

 

“No, we taught you better than that about respecting boundaries and also _not assuming things about people_ ,” Derek says sharply. Oliver doesn’t respond.

 

It takes ten more minutes of an uncomfortably silent drive before Derek parks the police cruiser back in front of the McCall’s house. Scott peeks from one of the windows, and walks out when he sees Derek’s cruiser.

 

“What’s up? Did you forget something, Ollie?” Scott asks, confused.

 

“Yes, he forgot to apologize to Jesse. Can you call him down please?” Derek says curtly, frowning angrily at Oliver. Jesse appears at the door, looking a little sad and a lot confused. “Hey, Jess. Why don’t you sit and talk with Oliver for a bit in my car? We’ll go inside, won’t hear a thing.”

 

Jesse considers for a moment and then steps outside to Derek’s car, barefoot, in pajama pants and a t-shirt. He sits down in the back behind the netting, closing the door after himself and opening the door across from it, waiting for Oliver. Derek waits until he sees Oliver slinking into the backseat and slamming the door shut before he follows Scott inside the house.

 

 

*-*-*-*

 

 

“So… any particular reason you decided that had to happen now?” Scott asks, and Derek takes a deep breath.

 

“My kid was a dick, he should know better. Doesn’t matter why Jesse was uncomfortable, Oliver needed to know he was wrong to treat him like this. _And_ , Jesse shouldn’t feel bad about not explaining himself to Ollie. Sometimes he’s more like Stiles than is healthy.” Derek says quietly, shaking his head and pinching his nose. He follows Scott to the living room, sitting down slowly on one of the couches.

 

“Got a lot of you too, though,” Scott says encouragingly, sitting next to him and bumping his shoulder against Derek’s.

 

“Do you know why Jesse was upset?” Derek asks carefully.

 

“Yeah.” Scott’s face hardens a little, closing off.

 

“Should Stiles and I know so we could keep Oliver from hurting him further?” Derek watches a few expressions cross Scott’s face, and waits patiently. He has a feeling, but he doesn’t say anything. It’s not his business right now.

 

“I think they need to solve this between themselves. _Jesse_ needs to figure out what to do,” Scott says eventually, looking up at Derek.

 

Derek nods, biting his lip. “Fair enough.”

 

“You want a cup of coffee?” Scott asks, friendly as if the last few minutes didn’t happen.

 

“No… I’ve had… way too much today. Thanks, though. I’ll just wait them out and then head straight home. Stiles should be done with his… _things_ in the cabin by now. Speak of the devil,” Derek smiles a little when his phone starts playing Stiles’ ringtone. “Hey,” he answers softly.

 

“Where’s my child?” Stiles greets teasingly. “And my husband, also someone I’d like to see.”

 

“Got delayed. Oliver fucked up, so I took him back and made him apologize to Jesse. We’re waiting for them to talk it out.” Derek says tiredly, leaning back more heavily, sighing.

 

“Come on, babe. Do you not know our kid at all? You should have given him a day to cool down.”

 

“I yelled at him in the car.” Derek says dryly. Scott stares at him, eyebrows raised. There’s silence on the other side of the line, Derek can’t even hear Stiles breathe. “Stiles?”

 

“What did he _do_?”

 

“Something shitty, and I made it clear to him.” Derek says harshly.

 

“Are you going to share with the class?” Stiles asks, sounding like it’s a request more than a question.

 

“No.”

 

“Derek!”

 

“It’s bad enough that _I_ know! Let it go.” Derek hears Stiles take a big gulp of air like he’s going to argue. “I yelled at him for the exact same thing you’re about to do so you better stop before I hang up,” he warns.

 

“O...kay.” Stiles says carefully. “Fine. He must have _royally_ fucked up, if you’re this angry.”

 

“We’ll talk about it when we get home. Maybe. If I feel like it. I probably won’t, so don’t get your hopes up.”

 

“Any progress with the kids? Got an ear out?” Stiles asks. He’s anxious.

 

“I don’t know. I left them in the cruiser where we won’t be able to hear them.” Derek shrugs.

 

“Oh, _wow_. Do you think it’ll be shouty?”

 

“No, I think it’s going to be very quiet and very private. I’ll see you later, Stiles.” Derek says with finality.

 

“See you later, babe.” Stiles folds and lets Derek hang up.

 

Derek glances outside the window. The netting between the front and the back seats of the cruiser won’t let him see the kids clearly, but he can tell they’re still there. Kira walks in with a cup of tea, sitting carefully on Derek’s other side. “I’m sorry,” he says tiredly.

 

“Nah, he’s a teenage boy, and he’s a lot better than most of them,” Kira says encouragingly, handing him the cup. Derek shakes his head and takes a long sniff of the aromatic tea.

 

“I hope so,” Derek sighs.

 

“We have two of those; we should know,” Scott says with a smile and Derek snorts, and takes a sip.

 

 

*-*-*-*

 

 

Oliver and Jesse sit in silence for a long time. Oliver fidgets, and Jesse just stares at his hands, curling his toes in the netting’s holes. It looks uncomfortable to Oliver. “Doesn’t that hurt?” Oliver asks quietly, nodding his chin at the direction of Jesse’s feet.

 

“Distracting,” Jesse says, shrugging it off.

 

“From what?”

 

“Things.” Jesse shrugs again.

 

“That’s helpful,” Oliver snarks, smirking, but stays on his side of the backseat respectfully. Jesse doesn’t smile. “Okay, man, my dad really tore into me and I still don’t really understand what your deal is but I do get that I was acting really shitty trying to push you into something you didn’t want to do. So I'm sorry.”

 

Jesse looks up at him, surprised. He lets out a little relieved “oh,” and visibly relaxes. “I thought - “ he starts, and then stops. “It’s okay, man. It’s fine.”

 

“No, no, if _cop_ dad almost ate me alive that means I was _really_ out of line. So forget about it. I’ll just… suck at kissing for a bit,” Oliver says with a small smile, nudges Jesse with his elbow, and chuckles quietly.

 

Jesse huffs out a laugh of his own, throwing his head back on the headrest. “Cop dad,” he echoes, shaking his head.

 

“I can’t just keep saying dad and dad, even I get confused. _They_ get confused.” Oliver shrugs. “So there’s cop dad and magic dad.”

 

“Magic dad!” Jesse repeats, a little louder, followed by a real bout of laughter. “I bet Stiles _hates_ that one.”

 

“He definitely pretends to,” Oliver admits. His smile dims down a little as he stops to think again. “Are you sure it’s fine? Dad said some things about ‘respecting boundaries’ and ‘pushing when someone said no’ and also ‘not assuming things’. I…” Oliver trails off, eyes narrowing and brows furrowing as he thinks. “I think that last part was about me saying you were straight. I thought practice kissing wouldn’t mean anything because you’re _straight_ . _That’s_ when my dad freaked out. Oh my god, he _knew_ . Did you come out to my _dad_ before you came out to _me_?”

 

Jesse freezes, doesn’t even breathe for a few long seconds. “How did you even figure that out…” he says quietly after a while, trailing off. He stares ahead, hands clenched on his knees. “Goddamn Stilinski-Hale genes. Why do I even like you,” he continues, covering his face with his hands, and Oliver thinks it was definitely a rhetorical question and wonders, again, if he should be offended.

 

“What, it was a serious question! I can’t believe you’d go to my dad before you talked to me!” Oliver is a little angry, a little offended, he decides, but mostly he's just very confused.

 

“It was an advice thing! I talked to _my_ dad, and he said I should go talk to yours, since…since! You know! That’s their thing!” Jesse raises his hands helplessly, looking between Oliver and the top of the car.

 

Oliver scoffs. “Yes, I’m very aware, since they’re _my_ parents. Did you think I’d be a dick about it?”

 

“No! I just… I just didn’t really know what… I still don’t know! And your parents had _zero_ advice, by the way!” Jesse points a righteous finger in Oliver’s face. Oliver doesn’t move away from it, but his brows furrow and he goes cross-eyed when he looks at it for a second. “Just like, variations of ‘you do you’ and ‘no pressure’ and shit like that,” he says miserably, slamming back into the seat, frowning when it groans in protest.

 

“Yeah, sounds like them,” Oliver says fondly, nodding. He scratches at the back of his neck and leans against the window so he can look at Jesse. “Look, I get it. It’s okay. You had to figure things out -”

 

“I’m still figuring things out. Never even kissed a boy before.” Jesse cuts him off, and there’s an anxious silence hanging between them.

 

“O... _kay_ ,” Oliver says, and then stops to clear his throat and buy himself more time to think. “Maybe _you_ should practice on _me_ , then. I’m a boy.” He jokes before he can think any better of it, and Jesse looks away because he doesn’t want Oliver to see him smiling. “I’m sorry, that was a really shitty joke to make after this whole thing,” Oliver apologizes immediately, but with a smile of his own, and Jesse almost knocks him into the front seat with the force of his elbow. “ _Dude_ ,” he wheezes, and Jesse laughs openly.

 

“Maybe I should, you know. Practice. With you.” Jesse says, serious, after a moment of them laughing together. Oliver’s smile shrinks.

 

“I really was joking, Jess, my dads are lame but they have the right idea. There’s no pressure. No… ‘experience’ doesn’t equal ‘not valid’.” Oliver raises his arms in front of him, shaking his head.

 

“Oh, so the tables have turned, now?” Jesse teases him, but there’s a strange edge to it, something about how Jesse’s scent changes, that Oliver isn't familiar with, a little predatory, maybe kind of… interested. Challenging. He doesn't know what to make of it and doesn't know if he likes it. He thinks he might, and the thought startles him.

 

“Come on, man, we should probably get back. Cop dad worked a double and he probably wants to go home,” Oliver says instead, gathering himself so he’s sitting further away from Jesse. Jesse doesn’t move except for nodding his head.

 

“So now that you know I’m probably not straight you don’t want to practice anymore,” Jesse says, leveling his gaze with Oliver’s.

 

“That’s not what I said,” Oliver says, shaking his head. “It was _my_ joke,” he reminds him. “I just think we both need to take a breather.” Oliver turns so he’s not leaning against the door and opens it, taking a deep breath of the fresh air, clearing his head from the chemosignal fog of inside the car. He looks at Jesse until he does the same with the door on his side. They walk back into the house together, silent, bumping shoulders. Jesse is a little taller than Oliver, but Oliver hopes against hope that he’ll hit some growth spurt and be taller eventually.

 

“All done?” Derek asks, looking tired.

 

“For now,” Oliver says, shrugging, and places both hands around one of Derek’s biceps, pulling him up. “Come on, let’s go home so you can whine at dad about how terrible of an offspring I am.” Oliver smiles up at Derek who smirks down at him in return, then he looks at Jesse.

 

“Do I have to yell at him some more, Mr. McCall?” Derek asks him with a small smile, and Jesse grins.

 

“Nah, I think he got it,” Jesse says with a wink, and Derek nods and brings Oliver close with his other hand.

 

“Then we’re going to go home so I can sleep forever,” Derek says wistfully. He corrals Oliver to the door without much resistance, and Oliver and Jesse look at each other and nod.

 

“Good?” Oliver asks hopefully. Derek is glad to see he looks satisfyingly ashamed still.

 

“Yeah, good,” Jesse agrees, shrugging. Scott stands next to him and gathers him close to himself, burying his face in Jesse’s hair. He whispers something so low that Oliver can only make out ends of the consonants, and Jesse’s entire stance softens a little as he melts into Scott’s embrace. “Goodnight,” Jesse says softly, and Oliver returns it. Derek and Scott nod at each other, and they leave.

 

 

*-*-*-*

 

 

“So, what did you do to piss Derek off so seriously?” Stiles asks cheerfully the moment Oliver and Derek walk inside, his head hanging over the back of the sofa. Rocco leaves his side to come and greet Oliver excitedly. He spares a few head nudges against Derek’s knees as well.

 

Oliver freezes on the spot, seemingly paralyzed.

 

“Well?” Stiles presses further, patting the space next to him on the sofa, indicating Oliver is expected to join him there for a grilling on the night’s events.

 

“Dad yelling at me was enough, don't I get a pass?” Oliver lets himself whine, if only to get himself out of this potentially terrifying conversation.

 

“Nope,” Stiles says, just as scarily cheerful as before.

 

Derek sighs very loudly and squares his shoulders, preparing for a fight. “I've had a long day. He's had a long day. _You_ look like you've had a long day. This can definitely wait until tomorrow.”

 

“I don't think so.” Stiles scowls, folding his arms over his chest.

 

“Stiles. Babe. _Please_. I cannot parent anymore today.” Derek begs, visibly wilting with exhaustion.

 

“You pulled out the big guns with the ‘babe’ but I'm not convinced. Plus, you don't have to stay.” Stiles points out, unimpressed.

 

“ _Maximillian._ ”

 

“Derek Samuel,” Stiles counters lightly, still undeterred.

 

“Daddy. It's a school night.” Oliver blinks tiredly at Stiles, then rubs his eyes with a fist. He's suddenly tired to his bones, feeling like holding himself up for much longer is an impossible feat.

 

“Daddy, huh?” Stiles says, contemplative. “Okay. Go to sleep. We’ll do this tomorrow after school. Upstairs with you. Derek, a word.”

 

Derek drops onto the sofa and lets his head loll against the backrest. “Look, it's not that bad. I may have overreacted,” he says after a few moments of silent anticipation from Stiles’ end of the sofa.

 

“I still want to know,” Stiles insists.

 

“Okay, but tomorrow.” Derek says with what he hopes Stiles will accept with a finality.

 

Stiles sighs loudly himself and nods. “Okay. Let's get you showered and in bed too.” He pets Derek's cheek fondly and Derek leans into it happily.

 

When they’re both finally in bed, Stiles curled around Derek, and the house is dark and silent, Derek wiggles a little, takes a fortifying breath, and says: “I think Jesse… likes Oliver.”

 

“They’re good friends.” Stiles says immediately in a tone that means “well, of course”. And then he’s quiet for a moment, and Derek watches Stiles’ eyebrows furrow as he thinks, analyzing the weight of Derek’s tone. “Wait, you mean like…?”

 

Derek just nods, then strokes down Stiles’ arm. He bites the inside of his cheek, knows Stiles is watching him. “Remember when Scott sent him to talk to us a couple of months back?”

 

“Yeah, I felt awful. We had absolutely nothing useful to say.” Stiles snorts and buries his face in Derek’s shoulder. “You think it was about Oliver?” He asks, lips brushing against Derek’s skin as he does.

 

“I don’t know. Maybe.” Derek shrugs, turns his head so he can bury his nose in Stiles’ hair. Derek listens to the sounds of the forest mingling with Stiles’ breathing, basks in the fact that the scent of the forest has been added to the mix that is Stiles’ personal scent. It’s been like that for a while, the forest is part of Stiles and Stiles is a part of the forest.

 

“Man, that could end up ugly,” Stiles says eventually, and Derek feels the frown against his shoulder, listens as Stiles licks his lips, and inches a little closer when Stiles wraps his arm tighter around him. “How do you figure, though? What happened?”

 

Derek sighs and shakes his head, realizes he roped _himself_ into talking about it in the end. “Oliver asked Jesse to practice kissing with him. He was scared of kissing that Emily girl, because he’d never kissed before, and figured it’d be… meaningless, I guess.”

 

“Oh, I did that with Scott once, it was terrible,” Stiles reminisces. He sounds nostalgic and amused and Derek gags a little.

 

“You did _not_ ,” he says, feeling an uncomfortable shiver going down his spine.

 

“I did, it was awful, we agreed never to mention it again.” Stiles shrugs.

 

“Then _why_ are you mentioning it now, to me?” Derek huffs, tries to shift away from Stiles a little, but Stiles’ grip grows tighter and he gives up.

 

“It seemed relevant and you’re my husband, you should know things like that.”

 

“I could have lived a much happier life never knowing that.”

 

“Can we get back on topic, please? Why did Oliver bringing up asking that make you think Jesse likes him?” Stiles prods Derek’s shin with his freezing toes, and Derek shifts his leg away in a reflex reaction.

 

“Oliver said he was acting weird, evasive, freaked out. Tried to get out of the situation as fast as possible.” Derek lists off. “Obviously our kid is as stupid as you about these things, or he would have realized himself.”

 

Stiles pushes Derek away in protest, and sits up. “I am not stupid about these things!”

 

Derek looks up at him tiredly. “I was hitting on you _for months_ before you realized what was happening.”

 

“I did not imagine my feelings could be reciprocated, and hoped you’d continue to be polite enough not to mention it. I was happy to be wrong.” Stiles admits and looks away at the curtains swaying slowly with the soft wind coming from the open window.

 

“Anyway, Oliver has no clue,” Derek says seriously. “I think Scott and Kira know,” he continues, as if he just realized it. “Scott wouldn’t say why Jesse was so upset, but he said he knows and that Jesse has to figure it out on his own.”

 

“Fuck. Poor Jesse.” Stiles sighs deeply, folding his arms over his chest. “What do we do?”

 

“I think Scott has the right idea, we can’t get involved. They have to figure it out on their own.”

 

“But Oliver wouldn’t want to hurt Jesse, he should know,” Stiles protests.

 

“No, that’s not your decision to make, Stiles. It’s Jesse’s.” Derek looks up at him again, finds Stiles is looking down at him. They lock gazes and don’t talk for a few minutes.

 

“I know you’re right, but I also want to fix it,” Stiles insists.

 

“Like you do everything that feels wrong to you in the world,” Derek agrees. “But this particular case isn’t one you can solve.” He pulls on Stiles’ arm and Stiles obediently lies back down again, looking at the ceiling. “We should go to sleep. Promise you won’t meddle.”

 

Stiles huffs, frowning. “Fine.”

 

“No, I know you. Promise.” Derek pokes Stiles’ chest with a finger.

 

“Cross my heart,” Stiles says, like it’s a huge inconvenience.

 

“Good night,” Derek says, and pecks Stiles’ lips before gathering him against his chest and closing his eyes.

 

 

*-*-*-*

 

 

Stiles lets it go. For the most part, anyway. Derek knows he wants to talk about it, and congratulates him every time he manages not to over the next few days. He fails during breakfast on the day of Oliver’s second date with Emily.

 

“So are you gonna kiss her this time?” Stiles asks enthusiastically.

 

Oliver places his fork down on the plate, a bite of omelette he was about to eat hanging from it. His eyes narrow like he’s suspicious, but he’s looking at Derek, and he’s not happy. “How do you know I didn’t last time?”

 

“Uh…” Stiles stalls, flushing. “Um, I...” He tries again. “Well, dad told me,” He says eventually, sending an apologetic frown Derek’s way.

 

“ _Dad_!” Oliver says indignantly, eyes flashing bright yellow, throwing himself backwards into the chair, folding his arms over his chest angrily.

 

“I didn’t think it was a state secret,” Derek shrugs, rolling his eyes.

 

“I wanted to know how your date went, that’s it,” Stiles admits. “I was sad you wouldn’t tell me.”

 

“Do not try to guilt trip me, you didn’t ask,” Oliver warns. “I didn’t really want to talk about that day, after that whole thing with Jesse,” he says quietly.

 

“What thing with Jesse?” Stiles asks, and Derek applauds his acting skills. Stiles sounds worried and indignant.

 

“You’re good, but you’re not that good. I know dad must have told you that too. Or Scott, maybe. Or maybe it was Jesse, since you guys are such _good friends_.” Oliver sounds bitter suddenly, and Stiles physically leans away from him, surprised.

 

“Kiddo, that was private. It was a kid asking adults for advice. We weren’t too great at it, if I’m honest. But it still wasn’t ours to share. I’m sure Jesse would have told you, in his own time. After figuring some more things out, maybe, or maybe after he had more confidence about what he was feeling. He was confused. He’s probably still confused.”

 

“Yeah, he said that,” Oliver allows. “I still don’t get why he wouldn’t tell me.” Oliver plays with the piece of omelette that fell from his fork, frowning.

 

“Maybe he was afraid of how you’d react,” Derek proposes carefully.

 

“I have _two dads_ , did he really think I’d _care_?” Oliver explodes angrily, raising both arms in the air. The fork he was playing with clatters loudly on the plate. His eyes flash yellow again, and there’s a hint of angry fang there, before he deflates and drops his arms back down, dropping his head between his arms.

 

“Maybe he wanted you to care,” Stiles says carefully. “Wanted you to have a reaction that wasn’t indifference. He’s scared, he doesn’t understand everything. His best friend has two dads, he figured you’d know more about it than him, and it scared him.”

 

Oliver lets out a quiet “oh”, like he finally understands. He stabs at the omelette with his fork a little viciously, and finally takes that bite into his mouth to chew. “So I shouldn’t talk to him about it?” He asks, worried.

 

“If he initiates, definitely do. He’s your friend and he’ll want to know what you think. But don’t press, and don’t ask too many questions, and don’t tease him unnecessarily, until you’re both on solid ground on this,” Derek advises, and Oliver nods along, taking it in.

 

“You can show interest, though,” Stiles interjects. “You know, you might be dating Emily, maybe he’s interested in someone.”

 

“ _Stiles_ ,” Derek steps on Stiles’ foot forcefully, who yelps in pain and gives Derek an offended frown. “No, definitely don’t do that,” Derek orders.

 

“O...kay…” Oliver says slowly, and bites the inside of his cheek. “So it’s better just to let him take the lead,” he says, to confirm he understood.

 

“Yes. Keep those Stilinski urges to _know everything_ at bay.” Derek teases, and Stiles scoffs, staring incredulously at Derek. “Don’t look at me like that, you know you and your dad have a problem.” He shrugs.

 

“It was my mom, actually,” Stiles corrects primly. “So it’s an Abramowicz thing. Dad just kinda adopted it by osmosis.”

 

Derek shrinks, because dead parents are always a mood killer. “Okay, going back, just… do what you said. Let Jesse lead this, at _his_ comfort level. Yours is probably a lot more... lax.” Derek sounds a little remorseful as he says this, like he’s re-thinking some life choices.

 

“That’s definitely not _my_ fault,” Oliver accuses, pointing his fork at both of them.

 

“Well, at least you’re ready for whatever life throws at you,” Stiles says brightly.

 

Oliver doesn’t say anything, just narrows his eyes and scarfs down the rest of his breakfast. “Who’s taking me to school?”

 

“That’d be moi,” Stiles says, with an embarrassing flair and a terrible French accent.

 

Oliver rolls his eyes as he stands. “Let’s go, dad.”

 

Stiles takes a few last bites of his own breakfast and stands, following Oliver out of the kitchen and grabbing the keys to his jeep on their way out the house.

 

Derek just prays Stiles will be able to keep himself together, trying to map out solutions to all the possible things that could happen from now on while he gathers their breakfast dishes and places them in the dishwasher. He goes on a run to clear his head when it gets too overwhelming.

 

 

*-*-*-*

 

 

“So…” Stiles starts, not entirely sure where he’s going.

 

“Nope,” Oliver cuts him off.

 

“Is there a particular reason you only talk about these things with Derek?”

 

“Translation: did I do something wrong?” Oliver says, like he’s had to go through this a million times. “No, dad, nothing’s wrong. He was just there. If you picked me up last week I’d have probably told you right away.” He sighs. He doesn’t look up from his phone, where he’s busy texting multiple people. When Stiles glimpses at his phone he can see “J-wolf” and “Em” at the very top, both of them have green bubbles to mark unread messages next to their names.

 

“Em, huh?” Stiles teases. Oliver elbows him. “Dude, wolf strength. Reign it in,” he chides in response.

 

“This is why I don’t tell you things, you make them weird, and only dad knows how to make you _not_ weird.” Oliver scowls at him. “Scott says you had zero game back when you guys were my age, and I can totally see it.”

 

“Okay, Scott can’t talk, he got magical werewolf powers and suddenly knew how to do backflips and lost his asthma. I was still very much regular old me, sans any kind of powers aside from running and semi-competently swinging a bat.” Stiles waves an indignant finger in the vague area of Oliver’s face. “And placing mountain ash in strategic circles,” he adds.

 

“I mean with _girls_ ,” Oliver reiterates. “He said there was a tragic saga with Lydia?”

 

“That asshole,” Stiles mutters. “Again, Scott was just as bad as me before he went wolf,” he insists. “And eventually _there was_ a brief thing with Lydia.”

 

“Ew, seriously? That’s like dating your sister.” Oliver scrunches his face in disgust. Nothing in the relationship between his dad and Lydia suggests… that. They’re too… similar. They clash constantly, but work really well together and have weird common interests, like ancient languages and math. But… they’re friends. That’s it. Oliver shivers at the thought. Not to mention, his dad and Lydia regularly drive each other insane, and not in the cute way his dads do with each other. Stiles and Lydia get really mean sometimes, especially when they’re in the same room. They do better when they’re in different states.

 

Stiles makes an offended noise, somewhere between a scoff and a gasp. “No, _no it was not_ ,” he says emphatically. “And it lasted about three weeks, before we realized it wasn’t really the dynamic that was best for us. Plus, it was right when I left for the FBI program, so…” He shrugs.

 

“Isn’t that when you and dad started going out?” Oliver asks, suspicious.

 

Stiles clears his throat. “A couple of months after that,” he allows.

 

“So dating Lydia _was_ like dating your sister and dad was right there!” Oliver crows, victorious.

 

Stiles sighs and shakes his head. “Yes, okay, dating Lydia was awful, and I’d prefer never talking about it again. It took a good few months before dad and I got on the same wavelength in terms of, um. Well, your dad was trying to make me see he was really into me and it took him a _very_ long time to convince me.”

 

“ _Dad_ went after _you_?”

 

“ _Ouch_ , kid, ouch.”

 

Oliver scrambles in his seat so he can turn within the confines of the seatbelt and face Stiles, trying to apologize. “I mean, like -”

 

“No, I know what you mean. It was more like ‘I was super in love with dad, did not think he could feel the same, until he threw a box of chocolates at my head on Valentine’s day and then yelled at me’ kind of thing.”

 

“He threw a box of chocolates. At your head. On Valentine’s day,” Oliver repeats dryly, as if to make sure he heard right.

 

“Yes.” Stiles can’t help but snorting, smiling fondly at the memory. “It was expensive, and made of metal, and had sharp edges. He freaked out because I started bleeding.”

 

“And then yelled at you.” Oliver doesn’t sound like he believes him. Stiles just hums affirmatively. “ _That’s_ how you started dating.”

 

“Yes,” Stiles says again, now fighting actual laughter at how disappointed and yet resigned Oliver sounds.

 

“That’s so much like you, but it also sounds fake, and I can never tell if you’re lying,” Oliver complains.

 

Stiles nods, putting on a commiserating face. “That’s rough, buddy. You should remember that most kids can't tell when their parents are lying, though.”

 

“I have a lot of questions,” Oliver states, waving a finger at Stiles.

 

“As you should.” Stiles nods. He parks the jeep at the entrance to the school, and clicks Oliver’s seatbelt open. “Off you go.” He smiles, waving a hand towards the door. Oliver narrows his eyes, but opens the door and jumps out. “Bye baby!”

 

Oliver’s face relaxes into an almost-smile, and he rolls his eyes at Stiles. “Bye dad. Who’s picking me up?” He asks dryly.

 

“Me.”

 

“And you’ll remember to leave your mad science lair?” Oliver teases. He calls the cabin a mad science lair in public because that’s what Stiles used when Oliver was small and didn’t know what kind of things you could and could not talk about in public.

 

“Come on, I was only ever late _once_.” Stiles groans.

 

“I know.” Oliver grins brightly, and Stiles can’t stop himself from smiling back, doesn’t want to, before he drives off.

 

 

*-*-*-*

 

 

Oliver comes back from his second date with Emily with a sour face and an even more sour mood. Stiles doesn’t say anything when he picks him up from the diner he left him at two hours before, but he ruffles Oliver’s hair fondly and tugs him close with one arm once they’re out of the car and walking to the house, dry fallen leaves crunching under their shoes in tandem.

 

Derek doesn’t look before he cheerfully asks, “How did it go?” when they walk in. A moment later, he tilts his head a little, something Stiles loves and Derek has no idea he does, and turns around to frown at Stiles and Oliver. “What happened?” This time he’s worried, taking in Oliver’s frown and watching Stiles kiss the top of Oliver’s head after he closes the door.

 

“You want to talk to dad alone?” Stiles asks quietly. He runs his hand up and down Oliver’s arm, comforting.

 

“No,” Oliver shakes his head minutely, then turns to bury his face in Stiles’ chest. He lets Stiles lead him to the sofa and glues himself to Derek’s side, then pulls Stiles by his arm so he almost falls on top of him, Stiles barely catching himself with his other arm on the back of the sofa before sitting down close enough to squish Oliver between them.

 

“You wanna talk, baby? We can just sit and watch some TV if you don’t,” Stiles says carefully, taking Oliver’s hand in his, threading his long fingers through Oliver’s shorter ones and squeezing. Oliver’s hands look just like Derek’s. Stiles likes holding both their hands.

 

“I dunno yet.” Oliver shrugs.

 

Derek wraps an arm around Oliver’s shoulders. He notes silently that they’re getting wider, like Stiles’, and feels a pang of… something, at realizing Oliver’s growing up. He pets Oliver’s hair and kisses his temple, just to make sure Oliver’s wrapped in both his and Stiles’ scents. “In your own time,” he says.

 

“It was fine until the end,” Oliver starts after a few quiet minutes, just as Stiles pulls away to get the remote. Stiles immediately sits back and wraps Oliver’s hand with his other hand.

 

“Okay. What happened in the end?” Stiles asks carefully.

 

“I kissed her,” Oliver obliges.

 

“That’s… good, isn’t it?” Derek wonders.

 

Oliver shakes his head, and Derek scratches his fingers through Oliver’s hair. “She said it was nice, but she thinks it’s better if we’re just friends. That she likes me, but she thinks I like someone else better.”

 

Derek and Stiles exchange confused looks over Oliver’s downturned head, Derek furrowing his brows, Stiles raising his. “Do you think she’s right?” Stiles asks eventually.

 

“I don’t know. Jesse’s my best friend, it’s stupid to say I like him _like that_ just because I talk about him a lot. We spend a lot of time together because we play baseball together and we’re _pack_ , it’s _not_ like that.”

 

Derek and Stiles exchange another look, this time more alarmed and more confused and also worried. “You know it’s okay if it _is_ like that, right? Just so we’re clear?” Stiles says, raising Oliver’s head with a gentle finger on his chin so he can look him in the eye.

 

“But it’s _not_ like that!” Oliver frowns angrily at Stiles, shaking him off. “We’re… _friends_ , we’re just good friends,” he insists.

 

“Okay,” Derek says gently, petting Oliver’s hair to calm him. “No one is telling you how you feel. You’re the only one who knows. We just want you to know it’s okay.”

 

“I _know_ that, you’re gay! It’d be kinda hypocritical if you didn’t approve,” Oliver huffs, exasperated.

 

“We’re not gay,” Stiles corrects.

 

Oliver tsks, rolling his eyes. “You know what I meant.”

 

“And that’s not what we meant. We meant it’s okay to be confused about your feelings.” Stiles corrects again, making sure to catch Oliver’s eye. They learned early on that because Oliver can’t catch Stiles in a lie, it helps his trust when they make direct eye contact.

 

“I’m _not_ confused.” Oliver grits his teeth so hard even Stiles can hear it.

 

“Okay,” Derek accepts, nodding.

 

“I think.” Oliver adds belatedly, quiet and subdued.

 

Derek and Stiles sigh together. Oliver’s head hangs again, so he can’t see Stiles looking skyward and Derek wincing. “You can take as long as you need to think about that.” Stiles says eventually.

 

“I don’t want to make things weird with Jesse,” Oliver says, looking between Stiles and Derek helplessly.

 

“You don’t have to tell him,” Derek says. “Not right away. Or not at all, Ollie.”

 

“But he’s my _best friend_ ,” Oliver says, sounding miserable. “And a _boy_ ,” he adds, but it sounds more like that was for himself than for Stiles and Derek.

 

“Which one of those makes it more confusing?” Stiles asks, cradling Oliver’s face with a hand, rubbing his thumb back and forth on his cheek. He’s smiling a little.

 

“ _Both_ .” Oliver groans like he’s dying. Stiles figures he might as well be. He remembers being fourteen and _very_ confused.

 

“I didn’t tell Scott until… well, until your dad almost died and then left, I was seventeen,” Stiles says, hoping it’ll help ease the “he’s my best friend and I tell him everything” confusion. He takes the opportunity to give Derek the stink-eye. He’s still bitter about him taking off and not even leaving a phone number. He could understand taking off. He was mostly still angry about the phone.

 

That distracts Oliver. “Dad almost _died_?” he asks, horrified.

 

Stiles clears his throat and looks away, scratching the back of his neck in a nervous habit. “It’s possible that we both did,” he says, evasive. He shouldn’t have said that part, but it’s already out there.

 

“ _What?_ ”

 

“My high school years were complicated, let’s get back to the important thing at hand,” Stiles says hurriedly.

 

“I thought - “ Oliver starts, but Derek shakes his head.

 

“We’re not doing this now, we’ll tell you more when you’re older,” Derek says with finality, and Oliver’s eyes flash yellow, looking like he’s going to protest before Derek flashes his eyes red, baring his teeth. Oliver recoils.

 

“I’m _fourteen_ ,” he grumbles.

 

“Sucks for you,” Stiles says, not very commiserating. “And boy, do we know how it sucks to be fourteen and confused. But, luckily for you, you have two parents who kinda like you, and a grandpa who adores you a stupid amount, so you’ve got a good support network around you for all kinds of questions.”

 

“ _Kinda like me_ ,” Oliver repeats, but there’s a beginning of a smile playing on his lips.

 

“Tolerate,” Derek suggests. That pulls a reluctant laugh out of Oliver. Stiles breathes a sigh of relief at the sound. Oliver leans back against Derek’s arm, and Derek tightens it around him. He grabs Stiles’ arm and wraps it around himself too. Stiles squeezes Derek’s shoulder behind Oliver.

 

“You want to watch some TV now?” Stiles suggests.

 

Oliver rolls his head to look at him, contemplative. “If I want to talk more can I turn it off?”

 

“Whenever you want,” Stiles says reassuringly.

 

“Even if it’s a cliffhanger?” Oliver says, challenging.

 

“Yep.” Stiles nods.

 

“Okay,” Oliver accepts, and wriggles a little between his parents to make himself more comfortable. He ends up leaning against Derek’s chest with his legs tucked under Stiles’.

 

“Why do I _always_ get the toes poking into my thighs?” Stiles grumbles.

 

“Because dad’s pecs are like pillows.” Oliver says, peacefully flicking through channels.

 

“Excuse you, my pecs are very nice too!”

 

“ _Yes_ , but dad’s are _nicer_.”

 

“Fine,” Stiles says, because he can’t actually argue with that.

 

They watch a movie quietly. Stiles gets up to make popcorn somewhere in the middle, and Oliver moves to the floor to cuddle with Rocco for a bit before he seems to get distracted from the movie, shoulders drooping again, and climbs back up on the sofa. He squeezes himself between Derek and Stiles, who had drifted closer while Oliver was on the floor until they were leaning against each other, Derek’s fingers combing through Stiles’ long-ish hair. Stiles is holding Derek’s other hand in Derek’s lap, thumb running patterns on it. Oliver takes the remote from Derek’s lap and abruptly turns the TV off. Stiles starts to protest and Derek squeezes the back of his neck to warn him off.

 

“How… how did you know… that. That you were… attracted. To. Um. To boys - guys?” Oliver stutters nervously, avoiding eye contact.

 

“I saw one of the seniors naked in the locker room when I was a freshman and had just made it onto the basketball team,” Derek says immediately. “I didn’t really do anything about it until… much, _much_ later, but… that was probably the first time I thought about that.”

 

“ _Really_?” Stiles says, and he seems excited, and like he’s going to ask questions.

 

“Stiles, stay on track,” Derek says, flicking Stiles’ arm sharply.

 

“But - !”

 

“Stiles!”

 

“Sorry, yes, our son is having a gay crisis,” Stiles says apologetically.

 

“ _Dad!_ ”

 

“Well, aren’t you?” Stiles shrugs.

 

“I don’t… _know_ ,” Oliver says, frustrated, and throws his head back on the sofa’s backrest. He lands a little hard on Derek’s arm and winces. “Sorry.”

 

“It’s okay,” Derek says immediately, scratching his fingers through Oliver’s hair comfortingly.

 

“When did _you_ figure it out?” Oliver looks at Stiles pointedly, expectant.

 

“I don’t… really know. There wasn’t like… an epiphany moment or anything, I just… knew. That I like men _and_ women.” Stiles shrugs. “Which isn’t very helpful to you, I realize, but sometimes it’s like that. Sometimes it’s just something you know about yourself.” Stiles pauses, and gets a mischievous smile on his face. “And sometimes you figure it out when you spy on naked seniors.” He cackles, satisfied with himself.

 

“I wasn’t _spying_! He was just… there! Completely naked!”

 

“Ugh, sounds like something Jackson would do,” Stiles says, disgusted.

 

“He _was_ just as douchey as Jackson,” Derek confirms.

 

“Did you have to hide a boner though?” Stiles asks, eyes lighting up. Derek blushes and doesn’t say anything. “Oh my god, that’s hilarious.” Stiles laughs again.

 

“ _Gross_ ,” Oliver says. “This is gross, I don’t want to hear about this anymore. Don’t ever say boner around me _ever again_.”

 

“Dude, we’ve had the sex talk. I mean, considering recent maybe-discoveries, we might need to have another one, but… talking about sex is fine in this house.”

 

Oliver makes a face, gagging. “We have Wi-Fi, I don’t need any sex talk, ever, _please_ don’t make me go through that again.”

 

“Porn is not a healthy example of what sex looks like,” Stiles says, in full educational mode. Derek snorts, turning his head the other way in the hopes of stopping his laughter.

 

“Okay, I know, you’ve said that three million times since the first time you caught me watching it,” Oliver says, blushing up to his ears.

 

“Imagine having grandpa tell you that,” Stiles says. “That’s what nightmares of mortification are made of.”

 

Oliver makes another face, this time horrified. “ _Grandpa walked in on you?_ ” He sounds appalled.

 

“Several unfortunate times. Once with dad.”

 

Oliver turns his head sharply to look at Derek, eyes wide as saucers. “Did he shoot you?”

 

Stiles starts laughing while Derek somehow blushes even more than before. “No, he did not. But he threatened Stiles with minor bodily harm and eternal grounding if he hurt my feelings. It was kind of sweet. Dad was twenty-one at the time.”

 

Oliver seems to be thinking over things, calculating. “That makes sense,” he concedes eventually.

 

“ _Wow_ , okay, thanks for the vote of confidence,” Stiles huffs.

 

“It’s not personal,” Oliver says, smiling at Stiles. “I love you even though you’re a bit of an asshole.” Oliver kisses Stiles’ cheek to soften the blow.

 

“You’re lucky you’re cute,” Stiles warns. “And my offspring. But I think we’re getting distracted. Do you think you’re attracted to guys? Is that something you’ve thought about before today?”

 

Oliver folds in on himself a little, frowning. “No, not really. I was - I guess I was focused on girls, but…”

 

Stiles and Derek let him formulate what he’s trying to say in peace, waiting him out patiently. Derek grabs the bowl of popcorn at the last minute before Rocco gets his face in it. Rocco huffs, disappointed, and lies back down on the carpet next to Oliver’s twitching toes. He licks them experimentally, making Oliver jump a little involuntarily.

 

“I didn’t think about it until now, until she said that, and now I think I do - I am, attracted, I just didn’t… figure out that’s what it was. The things I was noticing.”

 

Stiles nods. “That’s okay, it makes sense.”

 

Oliver looks at him a little skeptically. “It does? I feel like an idiot.”

 

“Baby, puberty is a long, confusing, awful process, and you’re also growing into wolf senses. It makes sense that things take some time to compute all the way.” Stiles says reassuringly, smiling.

 

“Even if they’re really obvious?”

 

Derek and Stiles exchange another look, both thinking about Jesse. “Especially then. You take things for granted, facts about yourself at face value, and don’t pay attention to things that are right under your nose.”

 

“Stiles,” Derek warns. He’s treading water here with outing Jesse.

 

“You assumed you were only into girls, which is fine, because that’s what stood out to you first. And now that someone called your attention to something else, it’s weirding you out. It makes sense. It’s completely normal.” Stiles shrugs, holds Oliver’s gaze for a moment.

 

“What about what she said about Jesse?”

 

“Perceptive girl,” Stiles mutters, pinching the bridge of his nose with his thumb and finger. “You should maybe do some thinking about whether what you’re feeling right now is only around Jesse or is it a general thing you experience with other boys as well.”

 

Oliver frowns in thought and leans heavily against the backrest, then lifts up his legs and hugs his knees to his chest.

 

“You don’t have to do that right now,” Derek says quickly. “Unless you want to,” he adds after a beat.

 

“I want to go to sleep, my brain hurts,” Oliver moans dramatically.

 

“You’re free to go. It’s pretty late anyway.” Stiles ruffles Oliver’s hair again, messing it up one final, thorough time.

 

Oliver heaves himself off the sofa, immediately followed by Rocco standing next to him. “G’night. I love you,” he says inside a wide yawn.

 

“Love you too, puppy. Good night,” Derek says fondly, patting Oliver’s lower back as he walks away and up the stairs.

 

As soon as the bedroom door shuts behind Oliver, Derek and Stiles both collapse tiredly against the back of the sofa, groaning. “Do you think we fucked something up?” Stiles asks nervously.

 

“Hinting at Jesse’s feelings was a pretty foul move,” Derek says, annoyed, “but other than that I think we did okay.” He massages his temples, scrunching his face. “Parenting is hard.”

 

“Yes. Yes it is. I think we deserve the ice cream we hide from Ollie in the cabin. The fancy kind. I think even sex should be considered.”

 

“Wards?”

 

“Oh, been up since he closed the door,” Stiles says dismissively, waving a hand.

 

“I’m gonna go get the ice cream from the cabin,” Derek says with a smile, then nudges Stiles’ side. “You think about what you want to do after that.”

 

 

*-*-*-*

 

 

Oliver is quiet all through breakfast the next day, and Derek and Stiles respect it, for the most part. He finally breaks the silence with a soft question. “Are the McCalls coming over for dinner tomorrow?” Tomorrow’s Friday, and it’s a near unbreakable tradition that they host dinner on Friday, with John and Melissa, and sometimes the McCalls.

 

“No, they’re with the Yukimuras. You trying to avoid Jesse?” Stiles raises a single eyebrow, crossing his arms over his chest. Derek holds onto the urge to snort at Stiles mirroring his father interrogating methods.

 

“Yes,” Oliver says, shrugging. “I don’t know what to do yet.” Stiles’ entire stance deflates at the easy admission.

 

“That’s fair,” Derek says.

 

“Did you think about it some more last night?” Stiles asks.

 

“No. I mean, I tried not to, because it got kind of… complicated.” Oliver hesitates. He’s twiddling his fingers, hasn’t really eaten much. Stiles made his favorite, pancakes and bacon, but Oliver doesn’t seem to be in the mood.

 

“I think you should take a sick day and go wolf around with your dad for a couple of hours,” Stiles suggests in a way that’s more an order than a suggestion. Oliver’s eyes light up. Stiles never allows sick days (that’s Derek’s thing, when Stiles is gone for more than a few days).

 

“Really?” Oliver asks excitedly. He sounds like he can’t believe what he’s hearing.

 

“Yep. I think eating a few bunnies might help your mood.” Stiles smirks at him, and Oliver frowns angrily.

 

“That only happened once and I totally puked after.”

 

“I remember, bud. I was there. It was the grossest thing I had to go through as a parent after we got you potty trained. I cannot even imagine what it’s like to parent an actual child that gets sick.”

 

“I can,” Derek says under his breath, at the same time that Oliver says “I’m an actual child!” before seeming to realize what exactly he said and regretting it a moment later.

 

“Excuse you, Derek Hale, I am not a child.” Stiles points an indignant finger in Derek’s face.

 

“Sure you’re not. And for the millionth time, it’s Hale-Stilinski,” Derek says, bored. He pushes Stiles’ finger away from his face and goes back to pretending to scroll through the news on his phone.

 

Stiles taps his own phone to light it up, checking the time. He sighs. “Okay, I have business to attend to, so you guys get to clear the table and then go do some wolf bonding.” He stands from the table, pointing one finger at Oliver and one at Derek. “Emotional wolf bonding, please,” he adds. “Not hunting lessons, those are creepy. And end in puking.”

 

“Can I come bug you at the cabin when dad goes to work?” Oliver asks hopefully. He likes watching Stiles work, and likes sitting with him in the cabin just to read together sometimes.

 

“I don’t know yet, baby. Might take a while. Check the wards, if they’re open, I’d definitely like you to come in.” Stiles ruffles Oliver’s hair on his way out of the kitchen, Oliver trying to duck away from him, unsuccessfully.

 

“You have food in there?” Derek asks, seemingly casual, but with a definite air of warning. Stiles usually forgets to eat even if the mini-fridge and cabinets in the cabin are fully stocked, but Derek feels better when there’s food there, especially if Stiles is going to be locked in for an undetermined amount of hours.

 

“Yep, restocked it yesterday per your request, Sheriff.” Stiles salutes Derek. He’s grinning. “It’ll never get old to see how your ears go red when I call you that. You know that’s exactly what my dad wanted from the second he started talking about you going to the academy, right?”

 

“Yes, yes, the Stilinskis outsmarted me with a giant ruse to get me a job I like with a possible long-term career, directly taking over from Stilinski Sr., making sure Beacon Hills is in good hands. Very clever,” Derek recites the usual speech in a bored tone.

 

Oliver laughs, and Stiles just smiles, biting his lips to keep his own laughter in.

 

“Unless it’s something else that’s making you blush,” Stiles wiggles his eyebrows in that ridiculous way of his and Oliver wrinkles his nose, gagging loudly.

 

“Jesse says his parents are _never_ like this. Grandpa will _never_ be like this. _Why_ are you like this?” He asks, incredulous.

 

“Because embarrassing your dad is an old hobby of mine, and embarrassing you is a recently added delight!” Stiles grins brightly at them both, then his phone chirps and he looks at it, frowning in concentration. “Well, these idiots in a territorial dispute over Central Park, of all places, are in a real hurry, so I gotta go. Have fun doing wolfy things! No maiming of other wildlife! Love you!” He plasters a kiss on Oliver’s cheek and then Derek’s before jogging out the back door to his cabin. Derek listens to his heartbeat disappearing behind the wards and huffs, he’s not a fan of that particular function. Oliver seems to grumble for the same reason.

 

“How about we leave the dishes to dad anyway and just -” Oliver starts.

 

Derek raises an eyebrow and stares at Oliver for a full minute.

 

“Come on, dad, it’ll be funny,” Oliver tries.

 

“Do you really think messing around about the dishes with your dad would be funny? Because I tried that once. It did not go well.”

 

“For who?”

 

“Who do you think?" Derek pauses, letting Oliver do his math. "For me, obviously," he concludes when Oliver can't seem to decide. "Dirty dishes in my bed. And the shower. My closet. He took dirty dishes from grandpa’s house and brought them over just to make a point."

 

“Dad is the real alpha, isn’t he? I mean you have the red eyes, but you’re also totally whipped,” Oliver says, teasing.

 

“Are you sure you want to play this particular move before we go outside and I make you run suicides for two straight hours?”

 

Oliver’s eyes go wide, the regret clear. “Come on, I’m having a teenager problem, we’re supposed to be doing emotional bonding things.”

 

“So no more talk of alphas and red eyes. Your dad and I have equal status in this house.”

 

“You’re totally more alpha than Scott though,” Oliver says, as a type of peace offering.

 

“Don’t tell Jesse.” Derek winks at Oliver and gets up from the table, picking up dishes as he goes. He and Oliver finish up the kitchen together in companionable silence, the only noise being the clinking of the plates and utensils as they gather them. Oliver seems pensive, but Derek never presses him for more than he’s willing give.

 

“It’s true, though, isn’t it?” Oliver says suddenly, giving Derek a scrutinizing look.

 

“You’re going to have to backtrack a little for me, Ollie,” Derek says with a smile. He’s used to both Stiles and Oliver’s tendency to ask questions without context, in the middle of a convoluted train of thought they hadn’t yet shared with him.

 

“Oh, sorry.” Oliver finishes wiping the table and looks away from Derek, biting his lip, probably choosing his words. “You’re a different alpha for this territory than Scott is, right? It wasn’t just a joke,” he says eventually.

 

Derek tilts his head, thinking. “You can say that, yeah. I have a different connection with the town’s ley lines. I don’t know if your dad did that on purpose, or if the ley lines did it for him because of my family’s connection to this town, but my connection is definitely different than Scott’s.”

 

“I can feel it, you know? Jesse can’t,” Oliver says. He leans against the counter, frowning in thought.

 

“What do you mean?” Derek leans against the counter to the side from Oliver. He thinks briefly that maybe they should call the school and let them know that Oliver won’t be coming today, but then thinks better of it - Stiles probably did it already. Probably before he even told them Oliver should stay home.

 

“I can feel the ley lines. I can feel… a pull, sometimes. To The Big Tree.” Oliver seems like he’s not entirely sure he’s explaining himself well enough, but can’t figure out how to phrase it better. “Jesse can’t feel it. Jesse doesn’t feel a lot of things that I do when we go on runs together.”

 

“I think that might actually be magic dad, not me.” Derek winks and Oliver smiles reluctantly at the nickname. “The tree is… you could say it’s his. You can ask him more about it, I’m sure he’ll explain it better.” Derek smiles softly at him. He stands straight and walks over to him, ruffling his hair, Oliver futilely trying to duck away from him. “Come on, let’s go wolf around together. You can show me what you mean.” The connection they share takes a different turn when they both change into their wolves. It was a surprise when Oliver managed the change. Stiles still couldn’t find an explanation as to how he did it, but Derek was happy for it. It’s something that is only theirs.

 

They run for awhile, then scuffle around a bit. It’s fun, Derek can feel the weight coming off Oliver’s shoulders. They scare a few bunnies, but don’t hurt them, and end up forgetting about their conversation in the kitchen, too busy enjoying each other’s company and the sprawling preserve. Derek had set an alarm on his phone to let him know when he needed to go back to get ready for work on time, and he whines a little when he can hear it going off. He gives Oliver’s ear the gentlest of bites to alert him to the sound, and Oliver whines too, flopping on the ground in protest. Derek nudges his side with his snout, and corrals him towards the house. Derek doesn’t let him wander the preserve in his wolf form on his own yet. When they get there, Derek shifts back to human, and puts on a pair of sweatpants. He chuckles when Oliver flops on the ground again, crossing his front paws and laying his head on top of them, looking miserable. “You don’t have to change back, but you can’t go beyond the mile radius we marked around the house for you, okay? I’m trusting you, so I’m not going to tell dad to put the wards up.” Oliver raises his head, looking more alert. “A _mile_ , Oliver. I’ll know if you take even a step further,” Derek warns sternly. Oliver groans and flops his head back down, looking away from Derek. “Don’t be so dramatic,” Derek says, stroking his hand down Oliver’s head and back. They both turn their heads when the sound of Stiles’ heartbeat starts coming from the cabin again. “Well, you can go sit with dad too.” Derek smiles. He strokes Oliver’s head and back one more time, and moves back towards the house, waving goodbye.

 

Stiles looks up as Oliver nudges the door open with his snout, Rocco following him dutifully inside. “No shedding on the sofa, wolf boy,” Stiles says, looking back down at his book and notes. Oliver walks over to him and lays down near his legs, placing his head on one of Stiles’ socked feet. “Into the smell, kid?” Stiles teases. Oliver play-bites at the foot where he knows Stiles is missing half a toe. “You’re not helping your case,” Stiles says lightly, and Oliver raises his head to growl and glare at him.

 

Oliver’s been dozing with Rocco for the past half hour, both definitely shedding on the couch, but Stiles can now feel Oliver’s gaze on him.

 

“You’re not in the mood to talk, then?” Stiles asks after a while. “Want me to talk at you?” He suggests, and Oliver rises and sits on his haunches, resting his head on the sofa’s backrest so he can see Stiles better, seeming to consider the option. He nods, and Stiles closes his books and notes, then walks over to flop on the sofa next to Oliver. Rocco gets demoted to the floor, grumbling unhappily on his way down.

 

Stiles crosses his legs, and Oliver rests his head on his thigh, nudging Stiles’ stomach to ask for petting. Stiles shakes his head, but obliges. “So what do I talk about?” Stiles used to do this with Derek when he was feeling nonverbal. Apparently both Derek and Oliver enjoy just listening to him talk for as long as they need. Derek says it’s relaxing and Oliver says it’s comforting. Stiles keeps those sentiments close to his heart.

 

Oliver manages to somehow shrug his non-shoulders, in a movement that involves his entire body, and Stiles hums in thought. “Dumb things?” He suggests, and Oliver shakes his head no. “Serious things?”

 

Oliver buries his head in Stiles’ shirt, but doesn’t indicate it’s a no.

 

“Okay then. Want me to talk about what happened yesterday?” Still no indication, so Stiles goes for it. “I think it’s ok to be nervous,” he starts, scratching behind Oliver’s ear, his weak spot. “And that it’s ok to not know what’s happening at all. It’s fine if you’re confused because you’re not sure what your instincts are telling you, about Jesse or other boys or other girls or anything in between.” Oliver changes back into his human body under Stiles’ careful fingers. “I’m going to ignore the pants-less situation.”

 

“I don’t like being this confused,” Oliver says, voice a little scratchy.

 

“Yeah, you’re not used to that, huh?” Stiles smiles, brushing Oliver’s hair away from his forehead, fingers combing through it. “Not really our family’s comfort zone.”

 

“You _always_ know what to do.” Oliver sounds confident in that notion, like it’s not even possible for Stiles _not_ to know.

 

“Oh, baby, I’m winging it in life about ninety percent of the time,” Stiles corrects, tone light. “I am, in fact, winging it right now. The trick is to look confident.”

 

“That’s a lie, you always have a plan.” Oliver shakes his head, biting at the inside of his cheek.

 

“I have about four plans. The winging comes in when they start failing.” Stiles shrugs when Oliver looks up at him, brows furrowed. “Plans fail all the time, kid. That’s life. It’s unpredictable and shitty, and you have to just… be on your toes. Ready for anything.”

 

“Always?” Oliver sounds wary and sad.

 

“No, sometimes it works out. Sometimes unpredictable works to your advantage. Sometimes plans just actually work. Sometimes cop dad has a plan,” Stiles smirks down at Oliver and Oliver ends up smiling reluctantly.

 

“You hate dad’s plans,” Oliver rolls his eyes.

 

“They usually suck.” Stiles shrugs, not denying it. Oliver tsks and and flicks Stiles’ leg. “His best plan was probably you, though. Credit where credit is due and all that.”

 

“Dad’s idea?”

 

“I mean, we wanted a kid, that was definitely a shared plan. But it was your dad’s idea to ask aunt Cora for help.”

 

Oliver hums, and almost turns on his back, then reconsiders. “Do you have pants here?” His legs dangle over the armrest, and he grins winningly at Stiles.

 

Stiles rolls his eyes and sighs. He pulls gently on Oliver’s ear and gets up, walking to the closet to get a pair of pants for Oliver, throwing them at his chest. Oliver squirms around trying to put them on while still lying down and eventually stands up and does it properly, then sits and looks expectantly at Stiles upside down where he’s resting his head on the backrest of the sofa. Stiles rolls his eyes but sits back down, wrapping an arm around Oliver’s back, resting his head on top of Oliver’s when he leans against his shoulder. “So what are you most confused about?” Stiles says after a few quiet minutes, tightening his hold on Oliver.

 

“Why I didn’t notice before,” Oliver says, obviously frustrated.

 

“Kid, it’s hard enough to figure out noticing one gender, let alone two,” Stiles says easily. “ _And_ , that’s something you can ask cop dad more about, but I think at least a part of the complication is how strong your senses really are.” He looks down to meet Oliver’s gaze when he turns his eyes upwards. “You notice everything all the time, I imagine it’s hard to map out.”

 

Oliver thinks quietly for a moment, looking in front of him instead, and changes the subject entirely. “Why doesn’t grandpa have chemosignals? Why can't I notice those?”

 

Stiles is a little taken aback by the question, but answers anyway. “He didn’t want to be a constantly open book to all the wolves around him, so I taught him how to mask them.”

 

“He doesn’t want us to know how he feels?” Oliver asks, hurt.

 

“He wants to be in control of what you do or don’t know. I can respect that. It’s a type of privacy. I know it’s a foreign concept to you, though you claim you want it. But, if you get to know grandpa well enough, chemosignals are redundant. His face and arms say it all.”

 

Oliver laughs. “Shut up,” he says lightly, and then thinks further. “Is that why you use wards?”

 

“Most of the time, yeah. It helps me and dad maintain a sex life without completely scarring you forever,” Stiles teases, intentionally using a tactic that distracts Oliver.

 

“Why do you ruin everything,” Oliver says, then groans dramatically, pulling away from Stiles, but dropping back into his hold a moment later.

 

“To keep you on your toes,” Stiles says with a smile. Oliver rolls his eyes. “You eat any bunnies out there?” He teases.

 

Oliver nudges him away with an elbow. “ _No_ , and I’m hungry.”

 

“I may have… embellished, earlier,” Stiles starts carefully.

 

“You _lied_ , you mean, and there’s no food here,” Oliver interrupts.

 

“Possibly. Anyway, let’s go back to the house and make something.” Stiles claps a hand on Oliver’s shoulder, and stands. They walk to the house together, where Oliver slumps down on his regular chair at the kitchen table and watches as Stiles rummages through the fridge. Rocco sniffs around Stiles’ knees, trying to get closer to the fridge while Stiles tries to nudge him away. “Control your dog please, if you’re not going to help with the food.”

 

Oliver whistles for Rocco, who trots happily over, awaiting neck scratches. “What’re you making?”

 

“None of your business,” Stiles jokes. “Roast chicken and potatoes,” he says a moment later.

 

“That’s gonna take _ages_!” Oliver complains, and then shrinks when Stiles gives him a very distinctive, “either help or stop complaining” kind of look.

 

“We can talk about the Jesse part of the confusion while we’re waiting,” Stiles suggests, faux innocently.

 

“No,” Oliver says sharply.

 

“Oh, I don’t know about that.” Stiles shrugs. “You’ll change your mind around fifteen minutes into the silence.”

 

“You’re the _worst_ ,” Oliver flings at Stiles’ back, because he knows Stiles will keep his word on staying quiet until Oliver breaks.

 

“I just know how you function,” Stiles glances back at him with a smile, then goes back to peeling the potatoes so he can get them in the oven first. Keeping to his suggested promise, he doesn’t say another word until Oliver does.

 

“ _Fine_ , okay, Jesse has been super confusing for like, I don’t know, ages, and I didn’t get why, and now I do, and _I hate it_!” Oliver says in a flurry of words, leaning back in his chair like it hurt him personally and crossing his arms over his chest defensively. He grits his teeth so hard Stiles can feel it when he looks at him.

 

Stiles puts down the knife he was using to clean the chicken, and turns around to lean against the counter to face Oliver completely. “Why do you hate it?”

 

“Because it’s like having a crush on your _brother_ , it’s gross! It’s like if you had a crush on Scott,” Oliver says dejectedly, brows furrowed angrily.

 

“I can see the similarities,” Stiles admits. “But the difference is that I _didn’t_ have a crush on Scott, and I’m assuming from your choice of words that you _do_ have one on Jesse.”

 

Oliver fixes him with a stormy look, but doesn’t deny. “His grandma is married to my grandpa, we’re basically related!” Oliver argues.

 

“But you’re not,” Stiles dismisses, shrugging. “You’re close. You grew up together. You’re attracted to each other. It’s common.” His eyes widen when he realizes his mistake. “ _Shit_ ,” he exclaims quietly.

 

“ _What_ ,” Oliver says, in that way he and Derek have, to make a question sound like the angriest of demands.

 

“Nothing, I -”

 

“No, _no_ , you said _each. Other_ . _Dad_!”

 

“Oh, fuck me. Oh shit, I fucked up so bad,” Stiles mutters and buries his face in his hands, and it feels like the entire kitchen is vibrating with the strength of Oliver’s emotions. Stiles silently considers the option that it _might actually be vibrating_ , because he suspects Oliver has a spark like his, maybe different because of the wolf thing, and he spreads his fingers a little and sighs with relief because the kitchen isn’t vibrating. Oliver is. “Ollie, that was a mistake, I didn’t - I don’t know anything about Jesse,” he tries to backtrack.

 

“That was a lie,” Oliver counters. “Don’t even need to listen for it.”

 

“I don’t know _for certain_ , okay? I don’t know anything. It was a slip of the tongue.” Stiles insists. “I should not be allowed to parent alone, jesus christ,” he mutters, mostly to himself.

 

Oliver deflates suddenly, in one big wave of energy leaving the room. When Stiles lowers his hands slowly and looks at him, Oliver looks… sorry. “No one said that,” he says.

 

“...Said what?”

 

“That you shouldn’t parent alone. You’re good at it.”

 

Stiles chokes out a noise that even he isn’t sure how to identify. “That’s… Thank you,” he says, dazed. That took a weird turn.

 

“Even if you did know, you wouldn’t tell me, and that’s okay. Like you didn’t tell me Jesse wasn’t straight, because it was his thing to tell,” Oliver reasons. It feels like he’s convincing himself more than Stiles.

 

“That’s very true,” Stiles allows carefully, nodding.

 

“But you don’t know for sure?” Oliver asks, biting his lip nervously.

 

Stiles looks him in the eye, makes sure Oliver is holding his gaze. “I don’t know for sure. I don’t know anything about that for sure.”

 

“Is it really not weird that I - that I have a crush on him?” Oliver asks timidly, almost whispering.

 

“No, it’s not weird,” Stiles assures him confidently.

 

“And you really think he might be - have a - on me?” Oliver stutters.

 

“I think it’s possible. I don’t know, and he hasn’t said anything to indicate it to me, and I might be very off.” Stiles raises his hands in front of him, placating.

 

“Your instincts are never off,” Oliver scoffs.

 

“Damn it,” Stiles spits, angry with himself still. “Do not put me on that pedestal. I am not always right, and I don’t always know everything for certain, I’m not omniscient or omnipotent in any way.”

 

“Almost always.” Oliver argues.

 

“Don’t do that,” Stiles asks. “Don’t put those expectations on me, because I do fuck up, _evidently_ , and you’ll get disappointed.” He bites his lip, looking down at his feet. “That’s the last thing I want to be to you, so I need you to cut me some slack, and lower expectations. Can you do that?”

 

“No.” Oliver shrugs. “I have a really awesome dad, it’s not like I’m going to start saying ‘oh, not so awesome after all, because he has anxiety issues’.”

 

“Low blow,” Stiles says weakly.

 

“What, your anxiety? That’s probably the only _normal_ thing about you,” Oliver says, like it doesn’t matter. Like it’s one of the other ‘dad’ things that Stiles does that is less than a mild annoyance.

 

Stiles takes a deep breath and releases it slowly. “Nothing’s normal in this house.”

 

“No, I hear anxiety is pretty common, especially in people who went through trauma at an early age,” Oliver recites, like he’s read that somewhere. Researched it.

 

“Ok, thanks Wikipedia, that’s enough,” Stiles manages to say with half a smile.

 

“Are you going to finish making lunch?” Oliver asks, indicating he’s done talking about this.

 

“Are _you_ going to forget what I said about Jesse?”

 

“If that means you’re not going to finish lunch then I’m ordering take out,” Oliver says, and that’s answer enough.

 

Stiles turns back to the chicken. “This better mean you’re forgetting this entire conversation.”

 

“I’ll be doing no such thing, but I _can_ be smart about what I found out.”

 

“Wiseass,” Stiles mutters under his breath.

 

“Learned from the master.”

 

“Guess you did,” Stiles admits, washing his hands and reaching for the spices. He works on it for longer than necessary, and he’s quiet, thinking. “I’m sorry you found out like that,” he says, and he feels Oliver’s eyes drilling holes in the back of his head, but he can’t look at him yet. “I trust you to be smart about it, though.”

 

Oliver stands, the chair scraping on the floor, and walks over, then wraps himself around Stiles, hooking his chin over Stiles’ shoulder, standing on the tips of his toes to manage that. “Smells gross,” he teases.

 

Stiles tries to elbow him unsuccessfully. “Sorry I’m not as good as dad,” he says, and it feels like there’s a little more depth in that statement than he probably meant to let on.

 

“Shut up and put it in the oven already, I’m hungry,” Oliver says, and lets him go, taking a few steps back so he can lean against the counter.

 

“You’re free to make a salad and eat it, then.” Stiles turns just enough to smirk at him, and Oliver gives him a serious stinkeye. Stiles just smiles a little wider and places the chicken in the oven. “So how long are we going to be avoiding the McCalls?” he asks, after he and Oliver sit down to wait.

 

“Forever?” Oliver suggests, and Stiles doesn’t like how serious he sounds.

 

“I kinda like Scott, though,” Stiles jokes, with his own underlying seriousness.

 

“Until this whole Jesse thing goes away?” Oliver says, frowning.

 

“Things you don’t want to deal with don’t just go away. They find a way of getting directly in your face with a vengeance.”

 

“It’s scary,” Oliver says quietly, like he’s admitting something he wishes he didn’t have to admit.

 

“I know. I wasn’t brave enough to face your dad at the time. He was shaking when he came to talk to me about it. He was scared I’d say no, because he was dumb.”

 

“Dad never shakes,” Oliver says dismissively, waving a hand as if waving away Stiles’ statement.

 

“Oh, he definitely shakes.” Stiles nods. “And that’s ok, you know? That’s normal. That means he cares enough to be scared.”

 

Oliver lets out a very shaky sigh. “What if Jesse doesn’t like me like that, though?”

 

“Then it’s going to be weird, and a little awkward, and it’s going to hurt, too. You’re going to be hurt by that, because you like him and he won’t necessarily tell you why he doesn’t feel the same and it’s his right to do that. Or maybe he will tell you, and that would feel even worse. You’ll get mad - at him, at yourself. Probably at us, maybe even Emily. And that’s fine. And then you’ll get over it, eventually. Or maybe some other nice person will come your way and you’ll forget all about it and run to tell Jesse like nothing ever happened.” Stiles reaches out to take Oliver’s hand in his, squeezing. “It would suck, I assume. But you know what would suck more?”

 

Oliver rolls his eyes, scrunching his face. “What could _possibly_ suck more?” he asks, doubtful.

 

“Not knowing.” Stiles shrugs. “We, as a family, are not fans of not knowing. Me, dad, grandpa, and you as well. It’s not in our nature to truly let things go before we get to the very bottom of them.”

 

Oliver bites his bottom lip, contemplating. “Yeah. Yeah, I guess so.”

 

“So for real, how long do you think we’re going to avoid the McCalls?” Stiles raises an eyebrow, studying Oliver carefully.

 

“Can I have a week?” Oliver meets Stiles’ gaze, looking nervous.

 

“You can have two if that’s what you need. You can have a month, or a year, but I don’t think you’ll last that long. I think you’ll miss Jesse as your friend, and you’re going to miss Scott and Kira, and maybe even Brandon,” Stiles jokes. Oliver bites his cheek to not smile but Stiles recognizes that lip tilting upwards. That’s how Derek used to smile when he didn’t want anyone to know he could. “You’ll miss spending time with them. And honestly, I don’t think you’ll last too long truly avoiding Jesse, and when you do meet up with him… I doubt you’ll avoid talking about it for too long.” Stiles shrugs again, shaking Oliver’s hand a little.

 

“How do you know?” Oliver asks defensively, shoulders drawing up.

 

“Kinda raised you, I guess. You know, observing how close you and Jess are.” Stiles lets go of Oliver’s hand only to place his own on Oliver’s shoulder, squeezing and shaking. “It’s not the direction I thought it’d go, but… I’m definitely not against it.”

 

“You _really_ don’t think it’s weird?”

 

“Bud, it’s not like you’re actually cousins.”

 

“You and Scott _are_ technically brothers.”

 

Stiles laughs, nodding. “Ok, fair, you got me there. But still. We raised you as friends who are family, not as cousins.” He ruffles Oliver’s hair, then squeezes the back of his neck. Oliver melts into the touch. “It’s a little weird, but not that weird. Like I said before - you’re close, you know each other well, you both know about the supernatural side of things - which is a _big_ deal. Plus, Jesse’s pretty cute for a teenager. I can see it. And the worst case scenario? It doesn’t work out whether you’ve started something or not, it’s awful for a couple of months, but we all move on as a family, and that’s the end of that. It’s really not that big of a deal.” He hopes he sounds more confident than he feels about that last part, but that has a lot of variables in it that he’s not too excited to take a closer look at.

 

“It _feels_ like a big deal,” Oliver whines.

 

“I’m sure it does. But in the grand scheme of things? It might not be.”

 

“Thanks, that makes me feel a lot better,” Oliver says sarcastically.

 

“I know _everything_ feels like a big deal when you’re a teenager, but take it from someone who went through _real_ shit when he was a teenager - figuring out you’re bisexual is pretty awesome, and kind of low on the scale of “serious shit that can happen”. No one is going to die because you figured out dicks are cool too.” Stiles smiles, and indulges in pulling gently on Oliver’s earlobe, which Oliver hates and tries to squirm away from.

 

“I did not yet think about dicks, but thanks for that, dad.” Oliver looks a little like he regrets quite a few of his life decisions.

 

“They’re a pretty integral part of some men, though butts are nice too,” Stiles says conversationally.

 

“Dad!” Oliver looks outraged and disgusted, which Stiles delights in.

 

“They are! I’m sure you’ve noticed!” He raises his hands, innocent.

 

“I’m _not_ talking about this with you!” Oliver’s cheeks go bright red, as do his ears.

 

“Why not?” Stiles admits to himself he’s a little offended.

 

“Because this isn’t a thing you talk about with your parents! Everyone knows that!”

 

“Well -” Stiles starts, but gets cut off by Oliver.

 

“Did _you_ talk about this stuff with grandpa?” he asks angrily.

 

“ _No_ , but that’s because he’s _grandpa_. I’m a cool dad.” Stiles tries to sound aloof. It does not work. “Grandpa is the king of straightness, and I am bisexual and chill.”

 

“You are literally the _least_ chill person I’ve ever met,” Oliver accuses, rolling his eyes.

 

“Oh my god!” Stiles points an accusing finger in Oliver’s face, and watches as Oliver goes cross-eyed trying to follow it. “I am the chillest of dads.” Stiles pulls his hand back and glares.

 

“You went total nutjob last week when I didn’t answer the phone for two hours,” Oliver states flatly. “You grounded me for climbing The Big Tree,” he continues. He starts raising fingers as he recounts more. “You spelled all your books to _burn my fingers_ if I opened them because I opened one after you told me not to, _you kidnapped my friends_ because I accidentally changed in front of them. I could go on.” Oliver looks unimpressed and certain of his claim.

 

Stiles’ mouth presses into a thin line, and he squints angrily. “Those things could have had… _consequences_ ,” he grits out. “Which I can’t explain to you.”

 

“That’s _very_ chill,” Oliver drags his words, dripping with heavy sarcasm. “Absolutely nothing happens if I don’t answer the phone for two hours,” he says, and it’s obvious he’s aware that’s the one case that isn’t necessarily dangerous to him.

 

“You could be _dead_ for all I know!” Stiles might be a little more nervous about unanswered phones than most parents, but he knows what could be happening when your kid doesn’t answer his phone.

 

“ _What_? Are you serious? The only thing that could kill me is boredom.” Oliver huffs, still unimpressed with Stiles’ apparent paranoia. “Nothing ever happens in this stupid town.”

 

The sentence echoes in Stiles’ head and he feels a wave of guilt flooding him and pushes it away. Oliver gives him a strange look, obviously sensing it, but doesn’t comment. “Because _I make sure of that_ , Oliver,” he says sharply. “I work hard on that.”

 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Oliver looks at him doubtfully.

 

“Trust me, you don’t want to know.” Stiles sighs tiredly.

 

“But what if I do?”

 

“Then it sucks to be you,” Stiles says, matter-of-fact. The oven dings, signaling it’s done, and Stiles gets up to turn it off and take the food out, hears Oliver sniffing curiously. “You could be more subtle about the sniffing, wolf boy,” he says, his back to Oliver. “That’s how Danny figured out Scott was a werewolf. He sniffed him and was extremely shifty about it.”

 

“Is Danny visiting soon? I like Danny,” Oliver says wistfully.

 

“I know you like Danny, because everyone likes Danny,” Stiles states, obviously as fact. “Set the table, lazy.”

 

“Is that seriously how Danny found out?” Oliver asks, doubtful, then does as he’s told, dragging his feet along the spacious kitchen, making sure Stiles saves some for Derek, leaving him a post-it note, knowing he’ll be back late

 

“Well, it took some research and some more unfortunate Scott-fails, but Danny’s a smart guy, so pretty much, yeah. Not all human friends are as lucky as yours, to have a werewolf friend that can’t control the shift because he lost a baseball game,” Stiles teases as they sit down at the table.

 

Oliver scowls darkly at him, stabbing at a potato that skids across his plate, barely catching it before it jumps out onto the table. “You said you’d let it go.”

 

“Eventually, I said _eventually_ , I’d let it go.”

 

“That guy from the other team -!”

 

“Was being a total dick, I distinctly remember you talking about it. But, since we are on the werewolf side of things, we have to learn to rise above that shit. Be zen. Or we don’t get to play baseball ever again,” Stiles says with a sharp edge of warning to his voice.

 

“You’re not a werewolf.”

 

“No, thank god,” Stiles says emphatically. “Grandpa would have a heart attack. But I did a better job getting Scott under control than your father did, so what does that tell you?”

 

“I don’t know.” Oliver shrugs, giving Stiles a doubtful look.

 

“Always listen to me, _and then_ dad.”

 

“I’m gonna tell him you said that,” Oliver threatens without heat.

 

“He’ll agree.”

 

“Didn’t you say you used lacrosse balls? Like - threw them at Scott’s head?”

 

“I was mad at him at the time and it _totally_ worked so my point stands.”

 

“You’re never mad at Scott.” Oliver tsks and waves the comment away, taking a bite of his chicken.

 

“I was mad at him then. He was being a giant dick, sounds familiar?” Stiles raises an eyebrow, challenging Oliver to disagree.

 

“Scott is _incapable_ of being a dick,” Oliver says, disbelief obvious.

 

“Oh, you’ll be surprised to learn what sudden werewolfism does to a teenager’s entire being.”

 

“What could he possibly have done that pissed you off that much?”

 

Stiles pauses, narrows his eyes. He opens his mouth twice, and closes it, thinking. “None of your business. Take it as it is, Scott can be a giant dick, sometimes out of actual malice, and sometimes because he’s a bit dense. He used to be _very_ dense. We’ve been working on it as a family unit.”

 

“So we _are_ family.” Oliver accuses.

 

“You know what I meant, Ollie. It’s decidedly not weird, okay? It makes a lot of sense. Definitely get _that_ part off of your ‘to be worried about’ list of things,” Stiles says firmly. “I’m sure there’s a lot of stuff going on in your head right now, but that doesn’t need to be part of it.”

 

“But -”

 

“Oliver Hale, _stop_ arguing.”

 

“Why am I Hale right now?” Oliver grumbles.

 

“Because you’re arguing with me unnecessarily,” Stiles replies dryly. “Worry about your math grade, which I noticed is dropping. Worry about dicks. Worry about butts. Do _not_ worry about Jesse being “family”.”

 

“ _Ugh, dad._ ” Oliver gags loudly.

 

“That’s my kid.” Stiles ruffles Oliver’s hair, then brushes it back into place. “Finish your food, and show me that you texted Dylan or Tyler or preferably both for homework.” He gestures with his chin at Oliver’s abandoned phone on the counter behind them, where he left it before he and Derek went outside. Oliver ducks his head and ignores the last part.

 

“Now, kid.” Stiles watches Oliver open his mouth and take a deep breath, obviously gearing up for a whine. “Don’t even try me.” Stiles stares him down until Oliver glares but deflates, scowling darkly at Stiles as he reaches back for his phone.

 

“Is Lydia coming to visit soon?” Oliver asks.

 

Stiles looks at him inquisitively. “Not that I know of, she’s not due back until the holidays. Chris and Natalie haven’t said anything. Why?”

 

“About that math grade dropping…” Oliver trails off, flushing, embarrassed.

 

“Oh, dude you can totally skype her! It’ll make her day. She likes you.” Stiles squeezes Oliver’s shoulder reassuringly.

 

“Only ‘cause Alice does.” Oliver shrugs, but he’s smiling.

 

“I mean, people who get along with your offspring are usually good people. Toddlers are good judges of characters. Tiny bullshit detectors, even when they’re _not_ werewolves.”

 

“So you think she wouldn’t mind?”

 

“No, kiddo, not at all. You should probably ask her to talk to Alice though, it’ll get you on Lydia’s good side forever.” Stiles winks and Oliver smiles at him again.

 

 

*-*-*-*

 

 

Derek comes back home late, and Stiles and Oliver sit with him as he eats the food they saved for him earlier. Just as he’s about to finish, Derek clears his throat and looks at Oliver. “You should, uh, text Jesse back,” he stumbles over the sentence awkwardly. Stiles looks at him carefully, waiting for an explanation. “Scott passed by and asked if you were okay, Jesse was worried.”

 

Oliver buries his head in his crossed arms on the table and moans miserably. Stiles massages his shoulder fondly. “What do I tell him?”

 

“Say you weren’t feeling well -” Stiles starts to suggest, but Oliver cuts him off.

 

“I’m a werewolf.”

 

“Say you messed with my shit and got into some wolfsbane,” Stiles waves it off.

 

“Jesse knows you won’t let me go near your stuff.” Oliver rolls his eyes.

 

“He also knows you do it anyway. As do I,” Stiles says sharply and the tips of Oliver’s ears go red. “Look, if you don’t want to handle this right now, you don’t have to. Just say you needed a day off and mean dad let you have it, and you forgot your phone at the house.”

 

“You’re not mean dad!” Oliver protests. He looks offended, but also a little guilty.

 

“I’m mean dad, it’s okay.” Stiles nods sagely and smiles at him.

 

“You’re like… harsher dad?” Oliver offers instead, frowning.

 

“What does that make me exactly?” Derek interrupts, definitely not pleased.

 

“Actual marshmallow dad,” Oliver determines, without stopping to think. Stiles laughs, nodding his agreement.

 

“Wow, okay. The sheriff badge doesn’t do anything?” Derek asks, sounding resigned to his fate.

 

“Daddy, come on,” Oliver laughs, and pats Derek’s arm. “I was always the king of the station when grandpa was sheriff and then it got worse when you took over.”

 

Derek’s ears go red, probably because Oliver hasn’t called him daddy in a very long time. It’s been dad and dad and very confusing for the past four years, since someone at school caught Oliver calling Derek ‘daddy’ and teased him about it. Derek’s missed it. He rolls his eyes for show but can’t help a smile. “Fine. I’ll take being good cop.”

 

Oliver hugs him and Derek wraps an arm around him, Stiles watching while leaning back in his chair, looking like he’s about to spill out of it, with an expression like a cat who definitely got the best cream he’s ever tasted.

 

Derek ruffles Oliver’s curls and lets him go, then reaches behind him for Oliver’s phone. “Come on, say you’re sorry, got distracted, ask him what’s up. Act normal, because nothing happened.”

 

It’s Stiles’ turn to go red, high on his cheeks. Derek gives him a look but Stiles keeps his silence.

 

“Dad spilled some beans during lunch,” Oliver snitches, after observing the situation.

 

Derek looks at his plate, sees no beans, and then realizes what Oliver meant. “What… kind?” he asks carefully.

 

“That Jesse might be…” Oliver trails off with a hand gesture that none of them know the exact meaning of, but get the general feeling.

 

“Stiles, oh my god.” Derek groans.

 

“I was trying to normalize the situation! To kinda make Ollie feel less weird about it! And then it just…” Stiles waves his hand similarly to Oliver and Derek buries his face in his hands, then pinches his nose.

 

“Well, we don’t know for sure. Did it at least make you feel better?” Derek raises his head to scan Oliver’s face, looking for clues.

 

“I don’t… know?” Oliver shrugs. “I mean… if… I end up telling him and I come at it with that… attitude? It might backfire in a really shitty way. But if you’re right? I still don’t know. And it’s still weird.”

 

Stiles sighs, carding his fingers through his own hair, a familiar nervous gesture. “I’m sorry, I definitely complicated things.”

 

“Maybe you should ask him to practice kissing again,” Derek suggests, and he sounds alarmingly serious about it.

 

Oliver’s mouth falls open, outraged. “You almost ate me for suggesting it two weeks ago!”

 

“The context was entirely different two weeks ago.” Derek shrugs.

 

Stiles seems to consider it. “That might not be a bad idea,” he says after a moment. “See, I told you cop dad has decent plans sometimes.”

 

“You said his plans suck,” Oliver corrects, giving Stiles a shit eating grin.

 

Derek doesn’t even blink. “He likes to say that to make himself feel better.” Oliver’s grin crumples. He wanted a bickering session.

 

“You’re so old,” he flings at the both of them, disappointed, knowing that even though it's not necessarily related, it's bound to spark something.

 

“Take that back or I tell Jesse myself,” Stiles threatens, wounded. It’s a touchy subject. He’ll be turning forty this year and it’s bothering him, and Oliver knows that, but he’s not fooled.

 

“You won’t,” he dismisses.

 

“I won’t,” Stiles admits reluctantly. “But I’ll find some other way to make you miserable if you don’t take that back.”

 

“You’re a spry chicken full of life and energy, Stiles, let it go,” Derek sighs, having had to convince Stiles being thirty isn’t terrible ten years ago, and working carefully around this 40th birthday crisis since his 39th.

 

“Damn straight.” Stiles nods, mollified.

 

“You got a few gray hairs, though,” Oliver points out unhelpfully, smirking, and Derek glares at him dangerously.

 

“I got mine at thirty, those don’t matter,” he says sharply.

 

Stiles pouts. “I’m _not_ old,” he insists.

 

“You’re kinda old,” Oliver teases.

 

“Jesus, Oliver, do you want to be grounded until _your_ 40th birthday?” Derek huffs. “Because I’ll do it if you don’t quit that,” he warns. Undoing this entire conversation is going to take _ages_ before bed and Derek is _tired_ and not up for it. He thinks maybe sex would help but he’s really, actually tired.

 

Stiles smiles at Derek contentedly and blows him a kiss. “A great idea.”

 

Seems like sex it is. It’s not actually a hardship.

 

“You can’t ground adults.” Oliver shrugs.

 

“I’m a sheriff, I can definitely find a way to confine you to a small space.”

 

“Really? The cop card?” Oliver looks like he’s very unimpressed with Derek’s threats, but Derek continues to glare. He sighs and shrugs his shoulders before saying, “fine, okay, you’re not old. I was just teasing.”

 

“Better.” Stiles nods and Derek deflates.

 

Derek finishes the last few bites off his plate and unbuttons two more buttons of his uniform shirt, following the top one he unbuttoned as soon as he walked in. “Can I go to sleep now?” he requests, watching as Stiles shakes his head no and mouthing “I have plans” behind Oliver, and Oliver rolling his eyes. “Just text Jesse you’re sorry, got distracted trying to hack into dad’s stuff, good night.” He gets up from his chair, stretching, and just as he’s about to grab his plate and put it in the sink to wash later, Stiles snatches it and loads it into the dishwasher.

 

“I can’t believe you still do that. We’ve had this thing for like... fifteen years,” Stiles says, exasperated. He then goes pale, probably thinking about it being that long. Derek watches as Stiles’ expression goes back to mildly annoyed.

 

“I _wash_ them, so it shouldn’t matter,” Derek says pointedly, rolling his eyes. Oliver looks and smells content, and Derek isn’t sure why, but it’s better than the pensive, upset frowning and pouting he’s been seeing since the whole… epiphany, so he doesn’t question it.

 

“You wash when you _feel_ like it, which is _never_ , and what usually happens is that I _load them into the dishwasher_.”

 

“Wow, dad, way to call him out,” Oliver says with a bubbling laugh. Stiles smirks, raising a brow at Derek.

 

“I see how it is. I’m going to bed,” Derek huffs, faux-dramatic, and strides out of the kitchen. He’s followed by Stiles and Oliver’s laughter, which leaves his smiling to himself, feeling lighter than air.

 

 

*-*-*-*

 

 

Oliver is back in the blue bean bag, wrapping himself in a scent he didn’t realize he enjoyed as much as he did, of him-and-Jesse, a pleasant mix of things that shouldn’t smell pleasant, like locker-room and sweat and feet but also the laundry detergent the McCalls use and the smell of… lightning and fox because Jesse is a weird mix that Oliver was dumb enough not to notice he likes.

 

“Quick question, are you still up for that whole, uh, practice kissing thing?” He tries to sound as casual as he can but knows the nervous scent betrays him. Jesse’s been a nightmare about it too, lately, wouldn’t stop asking why he smells like that. He doesn’t expect Jesse’s reaction, which is honestly a very comical spit take followed by sputtering coughing.

 

He sounds a little strangled and a lot outraged when he flashes his eyes yellow at Oliver and asks: “ _What?_ ”

 

Oliver admits to himself he’s not the greatest at reacting to challenge, and flashes his eyes back, adding fangs and a snarl mostly because he can’t help it.

 

“Don’t do that macho shit in my house, Oliver,” Scott says calmly from downstairs and Oliver’s eyes go back to normal and his fangs sink back in. He panics, realizing Scott must have heard the other thing he said.

 

“Sorry Scott!” He offers, curling into himself a little at Jesse’s continued angry glare. He strains his hearing when he notices Brandon talking to Scott but he’s whispering - he doesn’t want Oliver, or maybe Jesse, to hear him.

 

“Just want to remind you that tearing into furniture is frowned upon in this household, even when we’re angry,” Scott says next and both Oliver and Jesse groan.

 

“I know, Scott,” Oliver scoffs, rolling his eyes. “You sound like your mom when you talk like that, just so you know,” he adds, knowing it’ll raise Scott’s hackles. Oliver’s in that kind of mood.

 

“ _You_ sound like _your_ dad when you try to piss me off,” Scott sounds annoyingly unperturbed.

 

“Had to learn from the best,” Oliver says and shrugs, trying to smile at Jesse, earning a laugh from him, momentarily distracted from his anger.

 

“You won this round,” Scott allows and Oliver hears him settling back into the couch, pressing play to get the movie he was watching running again.

 

“So, uh, about - about what I asked, just now,” Oliver stutters, and watches Jesse’s face turn sour again with rising anxiety. “I was serious.” He raises his hands in a placating motion and Jesse flares his nostrils and stays quiet and angry.

 

“That’s _not fair_ , Oliver.” Jesse says, sounding bitter, and that catches Oliver off guard.

 

“What’s not fair?” Oliver asks, hands lowered and shoulders hunched defensively.

 

“Your parents are ga -”  
  
“Actually, they’re bis -”  
  
“You know what I meant!” Jesse says angrily and Oliver bites his lip.

 

“I don’t, actually. What’s not fair?” He repeats, softer. He softens his body language too, leaning back away from Jesse, and into the awful blue bean bag.

 

“Out of everyone on this stupid planet, I thought _you_ would know not to tease someone about this shit,” Jesse says, and Oliver smells salt, and realizes Jesse’s eyes are a little shinier than usual. He ignores it.

 

“I’m not teasing.” He insists. “I meant it.” There’s some rustling from downstairs and Oliver has a feeling the TV’s volume was lowered some but he tries not to think about it.

 

“Why? So you can run off and kiss other girls?” Jesse’s voice shakes and he sniffles and swipes at his nose distractedly. He sounds pained, and bitter, and Oliver hates it.

 

“No,” he answers, and shrugs. “No, that’s not the plan.” Jesse looks at him sharply, eyes changing between dark brown and yellow as he fights for control. Oliver thinks about how much hormones suck and scratches at his cheek, where the mutton chops usually grow when he’s in a beta shift. He takes a fortifying breath, and waits.

 

“What is it then?” Jesse acuses.

 

“I think I like you,” Oliver releases the words in a rush in one long held breath. He shrinks a little, and Jesse looks like he thinks Oliver is pranking him.

 

“You _what_?”

 

“You don’t _have_ to make this difficult, Jesse,” he says between grinding teeth.

 

“You don’t have to make this difficult, Oliver,” Jesse says, imitating his tone in a whiny voice.

 

“Are you serious right now?” Oliver leans further away from Jesse, burrowing into the bean bag like a protective shell. The house sounds alarmingly silent and he knows Scott is listening. He takes a deep breath, still staring right into Jesse’s eyes, and calls out “IF YOU’RE LIVE-TEXTING THIS TO MY PARENTS I’LL BURN YOUR EYEBROWS, SCOTT!”

 

Jesse pales, so focused on their conversation that he failed to notice the deafening silence from downstairs. “Let’s go outside,” he says, sounding calmer than Oliver knows he is.  
  
Oliver’s ears twitch at the sound of a familiar, clunking Jeep. “SCOTT!”

 

“He was just coming to pick you up, I swear,” Scott says, suddenly standing behind the closed door of Jesse’s room.

 

“You’re a shitty liar, Scott,” Oliver says angrily and stands up to open the door and glare at him properly.

 

“You need to work on your attitude with adults,” Scott pokes his finger into Oliver’s scrawny chest and looks beyond him at Jesse, trying to figure out if he needs a rescue. Oliver looks to the side, listening to his dad walking in.

 

“Did you break any of Scott’s property?” Stiles’ voice floats upstairs, along with his footsteps, and if Oliver didn’t know him, he’d think it was casual. But Oliver does, and his dad is not casual at all right now. He’s worried.

 

“I didn’t,” he says when his dad comes into view, standing behind Scott, looking down at him. Oliver glances back at Jesse, who looks like he has no idea what’s happening.

 

“Feeling an urge to do it?” Stiles ventures further, placing a heavy hand on Oliver’s shoulder.

 

“Kinda want to break _your_ property right now,” Oliver growls with a lisp, feeling his eyes bleed into yellow, his fangs dropping, claws drawing out slowly.

 

“You’ve been doing that for fourteen years, you don’t scare me.” Stiles says. Scott helps Oliver move aside and walks to the bed to sit next to Jesse. Oliver looks at Stiles’ hand on his shoulder, feels his dad pushing the wolf back where it belongs, tattoos glowing. He grinds his teeth together.

 

“This is a serious violation of privacy,” Oliver grumbles, looking between his dad and Scott.

 

“Just really didn’t want you to tear into each other. Blood stains are a nightmare to remove.”

 

“We weren’t -” Jesse starts, then stops, breathes, and shakes his head to correct himself. “I wasn’t going to do that,” he insists.

 

“Yeah, I trust you,” Stiles nods at Jesse. “Not this one, though. You don’t put this baby in a corner.” He slaps Oliver’s shoulder with the hand still resting on it and snorts at his own joke and Oliver hates him a little and loves him more than his teenage spirit is willing to admit.

 

“You're not as funny as you think.”

 

“I definitely am,” Stiles corrects lightly. “We should get going, Ollie. Grandpa’s waiting. Stilinski night out.” He waves his free hand in a flourish, the other still holding tight onto Oliver’s shoulder.

 

“That just means we’re picking up take-out and bringing it over to dad at the station, doesn’t it? Grandpa doing his monthly “I’m absolutely not checking how you’re doing how dare you Derek” thing?” Oliver shakes Stiles’ hand off and crosses his arms. He looks behind him at Jesse and his features soften without him noticing, and he feels his ears go pink at the scrutiny coming from the McCall side of the room.

 

“No, no. Stilinskis only. No Hales invited.” Stiles jokes. “Only half-Hales.” He amends as he watches Oliver’s scowl grow deeper, then runs his fingers through Oliver’s curly hair. He runs his thumb over the crease between Oliver’s brows, smoothing it. “Calm down. Patricide isn’t as attractive as it sounds when you’re a teenager.”

 

“You need to work on being more convincing.” Oliver grumbles. He takes a deep breath, sifts through the scents to get to Jesse’s, gauging it. He turns to look at him, steps a little away from Stiles, whose nervous scent is throwing him off. “Can we talk about this again when there are no nosy parents around?”

 

Jesse stares at him for a few seconds, then nods. He elbows Scott, pushing him away a little.

 

“And _you_ ,” Oliver says, pointing a finger at Scott. “I’m going to kick your ass in training this weekend.”

 

“We’ll see.”

 

“‘We’ll see’? Dad, he’s been regularly destroying you for months now.”

 

“And _Derek didn’t tell me_ ? Oh my god you’ve been destroying Scott and _no one told me?!_ Why isn’t there video evidence?” Stiles looks like he’s torn between being ecstatic at the knowledge and broken at the fact that he didn’t have it up until now.

 

“He’s a wolf, Stiles! It’s like he gains a hundred pounds of muscle when he changes!” Scott says defensively. “And besides, Derek will _actually_ maim me if I defend myself realistically against your son.”

 

“Right, right, we don’t need alpha wars,” Stiles sobers up immediately, sounding serious, but Oliver can see him biting his lips to avoid grinning. A text pings on Stiles’ phone and he turns it on to check it. “Okay, we have to go. Grandpa’s getting hungry.”

 

Oliver looks to the ceiling like it’ll help him, groaning. “Fine.”

 

 

*-*-*-*

 

 

“I told him,” Oliver says quietly as soon as they’re inside the Jeep and he knows no McCall can overhear him.

 

Stiles makes a startled noise, the Jeep hiccuping as he fumbles the gear shift. “You _did_? Scott just said you brought up the practice kissing thing again - which, I’m very proud and impressed - but, really? What did he say?”

 

“He thought I was screwing with him,” Oliver says. It just now dawns on him that Jesse seemed… extremely upset by the thought.

 

“Did you tell him you weren’t?” Stiles keeps looking at him instead of the road so Oliver reaches out and puts a hand on his cheek to keep him facing the right direction. Stiles grips his wrist and lowers it to place it on the gear stick, then covers it with his own.

 

“He didn’t believe me. He was really upset. He was -” Oliver pauses, fingers twitching under Stiles’ hand. “I think he was trying not to, like, cry. I really hurt him and I totally didn’t mean to? How is that possible?”

 

Stiles chuckles, and Oliver growls. “I think that means he _really_ likes you, dummy.”

 

“I think so too,” Oliver says, almost under his breath. “That’s scary.”

 

“Guess it is. Look on the bright side, at least you didn’t throw a box of chocolates at his head and make him bleed,” Stiles says cheerfully, jiggling his hand on top of Oliver’s.

 

“Ugh, you and dad have _no_ game at all.”

 

“Guess you got all of yours from grandpa. Maybe it skips a generation.”

 

“Grandpa had _game_?” Oliver sounds both fascinated and disgusted and Stiles laughs.

 

“My mom was a tough catch. So was Melissa, if I’m honest.” He shrugs. “Still, even though it kinda backfired, I’m very proud. That takes guts.” Stiles stops at a red light and takes his hand off of Oliver’s only to pull him close for a kiss on the top of his head. Oliver pointedly doesn’t move his hand away from the stick and Stiles puts his back on top of it. He doesn’t let go until they get to the diner where they always have dinner on Stilinski night. John is already there, waiting for them, leaning against his car and scrolling through his phone. Oliver hovers close to Stiles as they walk up to him, close but not touching, until Stiles takes Oliver’s hand in his, squeezing tight.

 

“Everything okay?” John asks, brows drawn together.

 

“We’re working on it,” Stiles says lightly, squeezing Oliver’s fingers again. “It’s a good thing, though.”  
  
“ _Dad_ ,” Oliver says sharply, glaring as he pulls his hand out of Stiles’ hold.

 

“Don’t want old grandpa to know?” John asks, sounding miffed.

 

“You’re not old,” Oliver says hurriedly. The idea scares him. “I just. Need some time.”

 

“How about we talk about what happened two weeks ago that’s directly related, huh? I think grandpa should know that part.” Stiles sits on one side of the booth, across from Oliver and John.

 

John gives Oliver a curious look, and Oliver turns red and scowly, thick, dark eyebrows drawing close together. “I’m… something,” Oliver ends up saying, reluctant.

 

John raises an eyebrow. “You most certainly are, but that doesn’t mean much.”

 

“Like dad. And daddy. I’m like them.” Oliver buries his face in his arms that are crossed on the sticky table, but the tips of his ears are still visible and burning red.

 

“Well, yes, that tends to happen with parents and children,” John agrees, still looking at Oliver.

 

“Dad, help,” Oliver raises his head enough so just his eyes are visible, looking as pitiful as a puppy.

 

“Nope, this one’s on you. Come on, you did something a lot harder today already. This is a piece of cake.” Stiles ruffles Oliver’s hair and smiles encouragingly at him. “It’s not like he’s going to be mad,” he prompts further. John glances at him, expression going from worried to plain curious.

 

“I’m… _gay_ , or, like, something,” Oliver says eventually, almost too quiet for John to hear, but John picks it up anyway.

 

“ _That’s_ it? I thought you _killed_ someone,” John sighs loudly with relief, rolling his eyes. “I mean, I would be a little mad about that, but I’d definitely help hide the body.” Stiles snorts at that.

 

“That’s dad’s thing,” Oliver says on autopilot, then sits up straight. “That was, um. Easy?” he looks at Stiles, who’s still smiling fondly at Oliver and his father.

 

“Grandpa’s an easy going kind of guy.” Stiles shrugs.

 

Oliver snorts an ugly laugh. “Yeah, about as easy going as _you_ ,” he says with an eye roll. He raises his hands off the table as the waitress brings over their usuals, shoving a fry in his mouth as soon as she lets go of the plate.

 

“Kid, if I cared about that sort of thing, we might not be here.” John says carefully. “But I kinda like your dad.”

 

“Which one?” Oliver looks to his side with a raised brow, teasing.

 

“The cop one,” John says, barely keeping his laughter in, then caving as Oliver giggles.

 

“Yeah, yeah, laugh it up, see who helps you with boyfriend trouble,” Stiles warns, wagging a finger at him with a fry hanging out of the side of his mouth.

 

“If I _ever_ have boyfriend trouble, you and dad would probably kill the guy,” Oliver says with an incredibly satisfying air of confidence.

 

“And _I’d_ hide the body,” John concludes, causing Oliver to laugh again, almost choking on the sip of soda he just took.

 

“Okay, murder talk aside, what have you been up to, pops?” Stiles pops his ‘p’s obnoxiously, ignoring Oliver’s dirty look.

 

“Keeping busy. I’ve taken up wood whittling.”

 

“No you _didn’t_ ,” Stiles protests. “You don’t have a single artistic bone in your body.” Oliver looks offended on his grandfather’s behalf and glares. Stiles sees a flash of yellow and a fang sliding down Oliver’s lower lip and flicks his nose with a finger. “We’re in public,” he hisses angrily. Oliver shakes his head, dazed.

 

“I didn’t say I was any _good_ , I just said I’m trying it.” John laughs, wrapping an arm around Oliver’s shoulders. Oliver’s eyes keep flashing yellow.

 

“Oh, for god’s sake, Oliver, do you need to go outside?” Stiles huffs, angry. Oliver’s eyes settle on their usual green-hazel-blue-gray, which isn’t really settling at all, but Stiles is used to it, and he’s satisfied when Oliver flushes a little, ashamed. “Teenage hormones are the _worst_ , how did you not kill me?”

 

“It was hard,” John says gravely and Oliver barks a laugh he seemingly couldn’t control. He lets the air calm back down before he looks over Oliver and asks, “so, what brought on the whole…” he trails off awkwardly, waving a hand like it’ll help get his message across.  
  
“Gay crisis,” Stiles says helpfully.

 

“ _Dad_!”

 

“Well, that’s what it was!”

 

“Nevermind, what happened? You got a boyfriend now?”

 

Oliver turns beet red and sinks down in the vinyl chair until his feet are touching Stiles’ and only the top half of his face is visible. “No, I _don’t_.”

 

“Like I said, we’re working on it,” Stiles explains.

 

“Who’s the lucky guy, then? Someone from school?” John presses, not unpleasantly.

 

Oliver looks like he might die of mortification, so Stiles saves him. “How about we keep it to one awful reveal per Stilinski night, right, dad?”

 

“Awful reveal?” John looks over Stiles, trying to read his expression. “Having a boyfriend is nice, isn’t it?”

 

“They’re not there yet. But as soon as they are, I’m sure you and Melissa will be immediately informed,” Stiles promises, hoping his father would let the subject go. John tries to communicate something silently to Stiles using his eyebrows but he’s not as good as Derek at it so it doesn’t really work. “Are you constipated?”

 

“I should have given you up for adoption.”

 

“Mom would’ve vetoed it.” Stiles shrugs, unimpressed.

 

“Probably.”

 

Oliver snorts, sitting up straight now that the danger of death-by-embarrassment was gone. “Liar,” he accuses. “You said dad was the best thing that ever happened to you.”

 

“So what’s the boyfriend’s name again?” John teases, deflecting.

 

Oliver elbows him (gently), pushing away from him. “I’ll tell you when I have one,” he promises.

 

The conversation mellows after that, as they eat slowly. John orders Derek’s usual to-go when they’re done, and Oliver climbs in John’s car instead of the Jeep as they all head down to the station to visit Derek at work.

 

“So, any interesting new cases?” John asks casually once Derek’s guard is down, cheeseburger half eaten.

 

“You know I can’t tell you, John,” Derek says tiredly.

 

“You should make me a consultant, then,” John argues. It’s been a long standing discussion, ever since he retired.

 

“Stiles would kill me before the thought even crossed my mind.”

 

“I would,” Stiles confirms, biting a chip he stole from the plastic container of Derek’s takeout. “Forty years is enough. That’s it. Wood whittling it is for you from now on.”

 

Derek starts coughing, choking on a pickle he partially inhaled when he laughed. “Wood whittling. Really.”

 

“Retirement is _very_ , _very_ boring, Derek. Remember that,” John says seriously, a little sad. He steals a chip from Derek, staring Stiles down and daring him to say something. Stiles wisely chooses not to. Stilinski night is John’s cheat night.

 

Oliver slurps the last of his strawberry milkshake obnoxiously loud, returning a very unimpressed, challenging stare to Derek and John’s scowls, then smirking when Stiles gives him the thumbs up. “I’m sure you’ll find a real hobby soon,” Oliver says sagely. He knows John’s been consulting Derek for ages behind Stiles’ back.

 

“Whittling is a very real hobby!”

 

“It would be, except you hate it,” Oliver points out.

 

John scowls. “Werewolf teenagers are the _worst_.”

 

“They truly are,” Stiles agrees, sounding nostalgic. “Scott was _awful_.”

 

“Oh, because you were a bucket full of sunshine,” Derek says, offended on behalf of werewolf teenagers everywhere.

 

“I was not. But at least I didn’t grow fangs when I got angry. There was no danger of maiming anyone when I got angry,” Stiles counters.  
  
John laughs, stealing another chip from Derek’s container. “I beg to differ.”

 

“Stop eating my food, I’m the only one with a real job here.” Derek snatches the container out of John and Stiles’ reach, and takes a huge bite out of his cheeseburger.

 

John leaves after a little while, saying he’s tired, which Stiles spends at least 5 minutes teasing him over. Stiles and Oliver stick around a little longer.

 

“So, are you gonna tell dad or am I?” Stiles grabs Oliver’s phone out of his hand, locking it. Oliver tries to snatch it back unsuccessfully, growling a little. “I’m not going to read your texts, don’t worry.”

 

Oliver continues to glare at Stiles, but Stiles doesn’t budge. “I… tried… to talk to Jesse today. But it kinda backfired and then Scott got _dad_ to come and ruin things even more -” Oliver gears up to complain but Stiles hands him his phone back, distracting him.

 

Derek is practically glowing. “I’m sure you can try again,” he says, trying to sound less excited than he is. “I’ll make sure Scott and dad are very far away.”

 

“To our defense, this wolf boy was doing macho wolf bullshit and Scott thought he was going to tear his house up, so,” Stiles says quickly.

 

“Were you doing that?” Derek deflates, disappointed.

 

Oliver doesn’t answer for a minute, trying to pull off an innocent face. “A little?” he says eventually, shrinking away from the disappointed look Derek was giving him. “Jesse was doing the eye thing and all the scents were really confusing and I could tell Scott was listening to us and I just - I’m sorry, okay? I just. Wanted to control the situation.”

 

“That’s _not_ how we control situations.” Stiles points out. “That’s how we wolf out in front of humans and/or hurt our friends.”

 

“Jesse isn’t human,” Oliver grumbles, just to make a point.

 

“No, but you can definitely still hurt him if you wolf out and lose it,” Stiles counters.

 

“I won’t lose it with Jesse and he heals in like, seconds, so it’s not that of big a deal.”

 

“Yes, but he’ll probably be hurt in the emotional way, you know? That doesn’t heal in seconds. That requires apologies, which you are not great at, unless forced.” Stiles points out and Oliver frowns angrily but doesn’t answer, knowing Stiles is mostly right.

 

“Wonder where he got that,” Derek muses sarcastically.

 

“Shut up,” Stiles throws lamely.

 

Derek’s office phone rings and Stiles and Oliver don’t need him to say anything to know he’s needed somewhere and it’s time for them to go. Stiles pecks Derek on the cheek before they leave, and Oliver generously allows a peck on the top of his head in public as they all walk out of the office.

 

“Don’t do anything stupid,” Stiles says with a smile.

 

“I’ll try. Bye, guys,” Derek says with one last wave.

 

Stiles and Oliver get in the jeep and drive home, in a mostly companionable silence. “You done with homework?” Stiles asks as they climb the stairs to the porch, listening to Rocco scrabble on the wooden floors to get to the door before they do, so he can storm them excitedly.

 

“Yeah,” Oliver says, distracted by Rocco trying to climb him to lick his face.

 

“Free to do whatever you want, then. I’m gonna be in the office.” Stiles ruffles Oliver’s hair fondly, passing through the living room and turning into the door that leads to the home office.

 

“What are you doing?” Oliver perks up with interest and walks closer to Stiles. He likes watching Stiles study new druid material. He doesn't seem to be interested in learning it, but he does like watching.

 

“Taxes, baby.” Stiles pats Oliver’s shoulder.

 

“Lie.”

 

“Things that aren’t dangerous but are also not for you yet,” Stiles amends graciously.

 

“Fine.” Oliver huffs. “I’m gonna be in my room.”

 

“Bedtime at eleven,” Stiles reminds him. “You better be very asleep by midnight, anyway. You’re cranky when you don’t get enough sleep and I’m not into it.”

 

Oliver rolls his eyes and turns away to take the stairs, Rocco following. “Night,” he says from the top of the stairs, Stiles returns the sentiment from the office doorway. They both know Oliver is going to stay up later but Stiles feels better about himself when he at least tries.

 

 

*-*-*-*

 

 

When Derek isn’t home, Oliver allows himself to raise his voice, mostly because he can and sometimes because he’s too lazy to go over to where Stiles is. So when it's late afternoon, while Derek’s still at work and Stiles is busy somewhere inside, he can shout: “DAD? I’M GOING RUNNING WITH JESSE!”

 

The wheels of the chair squeak as Stiles rolls his chair back to get up and out of the home office before Oliver has a chance to leave. He looks him over carefully, and Oliver turns red under the scrutiny. “Wolf or half baked?” 

 

Oliver lets out an exasperated “ugh” noise and his face ripples into the beta form. “Like this.” 

 

Stiles considers him for another moment. “You can take the larger perimeter. Two miles. Wards will be up, and I’ll know if you’re doing something you’re not supposed to be doing.” 

 

“You  _ always _ know,” Oliver whines. 

 

“That’s what parenting is. Howl if you’re in trouble, do  _ not _ engage other creatures alone, phone battery?” Stiles stops, waiting for an answer.

 

“Full.” Oliver rolls his eyes dramatically. 

 

Stiles nods in acknowledgement. “Stay away from The Big Tree, markings you don’t know, and human hiking trails. Be back by the time dad is. Don’t take Rocco with you, it’s too much for him. Have fun. Hope you guys make out!” Stiles grins at him, throwing two thumbs up, then laughs at Oliver’s appalled look, and turns back to his office. “Jesse’s probably waiting!” Stiles says, when he doesn’t hear the front door open and close behind Oliver. 

 

“You’re the  _ worst _ !”

 

“Love you too!” Stiles calls before the door closes behind Oliver. He resists putting a tracking charm on him with difficulty, but knows that if Oliver catches on he won't be forgiven for a long time. He instead texts Derek. “ _ Puppy going on a wolf run with Jesse. Is that code for making out?” _

 

It takes Derek a couple of minutes to reply. “ _??? you let them go alone? _ ”

 

“ _ Set a 2 mile perimeter, wards. Is it code for make outs or not? _ ”

 

“ _ I don’t think they’re there yet but maybe Ollie’s hoping for it. _ ”

 

“ _ Is it weird that I’m rooting for make outs for our son? _ ”

 

“ _ Only a little. _ ”

 

“ _ You better be rooting too. _ ”

 

“ _ You better be rooting for him to not find our make out spot. _ ”

 

“ _ I warded it off ages ago, do you think I want Scott going anywhere near there? You’ll never get in the mood if Scott’s scent is all over it. _ ”

 

“ _ Smart. _ ”

 

“ _ That’s me. _ ”

 

“ _ Gtg, pile up on Main street. Update me if you get anything out of him. _ ”

 

“ _ Of course. Told him to howl if something bad happens so keep an ear out. _ ”

 

“ _ When do I not keep an ear out? _ ”

 

“ _ When there’s a pile up on Main street and you’re working. _ ”

 

“ _ Gtg _ ” is the last response Stiles gets from Derek, alongside heart and kiss emojis. He replies with two hearts and two kisses just to tick Derek off, then goes back to his research.

 

 

*-*-*-*

 

 

Jesse slows to a stop in the middle of a clearing Oliver vaguely recognizes, and Oliver stops a few steps away from him. Both of their faces ripple through the change from beta to human. They’ve been running around for about twenty minutes, neither of them out of breath, but both sweating. The scent is… interesting. Oliver blinks the thought away and wipes his forehead.

 

“You’re not going… wolf, today?” Jesse asks, suspicious. He gestures vaguely at Oliver’s entire body and waves his hand a little.

 

“Nah. Thought we could, uh. Talk. Maybe. I can’t really talk when I’m four-legged.” Oliver meets his eyes for a second then averts his gaze again, looking around them at the tall trees. He can feel the pull of The Big Tree from nearby. He ignores it.

 

Oliver can feel the energy change as Jesse bristles. “Talk about what?”

 

“About last week.” Oliver swallows loudly, feels his heart speed up.

 

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

 

“I was _serious_ , Jesse!” Oliver says quickly, stepping closer. He takes a deep breath and closes his eyes before looking back into Jesse’s. “I want…” he trails off, stomping his foot on the ground, angry with himself. “I want to practice - practice kissing. With you. Because you’re… a boy.” Oliver looks away immediately after, turning his eyes to the ground, scuffing his shoes through the dirt, biting his bottom lip nervously.

 

Jesse doesn’t say anything but he isn’t walking away either. Oliver notes he smells… curious, not suspicious or hurt. It’s reassuring enough that Oliver looks back up. They study each other in silence until Jesse breaks it. “So you’re like…?”

 

“Bi? I think? I have no idea, it’s so confusing and my parents _are_ as useless as you said,” Oliver lets it all spill in one quick breath. “My dad made me tell _grandpa_ ,” he complains.

 

Jesse’s eyes widen. “Oh man. It was Stiles, wasn’t it?” he guesses.

 

“Duh,” Oliver rolls his eyes. “He’s the worst. Anyway. Are you… would you, um.” He starts and stops and ends up opening and closing his mouth stupidly a few times while Jesse watches him carefully, a tentative smile turning his mouth up. “Kissing. That.” Oliver snaps his fingers, as if remembering. “Yes?”

 

Jesse chuckles and Oliver scowls. “Sure. Why not.” He shrugs.

 

“Now?” Oliver’s voice cracks on it and he breaks into a cold, nervous sweat. Jesse’s nostrils flare. He seems to like it.

 

“No one’s around. Just one bunny behind that tree,” Jesse gestures his chin behind Oliver and Oliver turns briefly to see if he can find it. He hears the bushes rustling minutely as the bunny moves. He feels Jesse’s hand land carefully on his cheek, turning him back so they’re facing. “You sure?”

 

“No,” Oliver says. Jesse’s fingers twitch and he almost pulls his hand away but Oliver shakes his head. “I’m not sure but that doesn’t mean I don’t want to,” he clarifies. Jesse’s hand is warm and Oliver has to work not to move away because he’s feeling so awkward. He bites the inside of his cheek unconsciously and Jesse’s fingers twitch again as he leans in and touches his lips to Oliver’s. Oliver leans into it, hands itching to do something, nervousness keeping them at his side. Jesse pulls back and Oliver’s not sure how long it lasted. He’s a little dizzy. Jesse’s scent makes him hot and his claws push out without him meaning them to. He blinks a few times before his eyes focus. “That was. Uh. That was good,” he stutters.

 

Jesse nods. He’s smiling. “Wanna try again?”

 

“Yes please,” Oliver says eagerly, and ducks forward again, mashing his mouth ungracefully against Jesse’s in his eagerness. He pulls back with a wince, cheeks going red with embarrassment. “Sorry. You should probably, um. Do that.” Jesse doesn’t wait before he kisses Oliver again. It’s nothing like he’d seen on TV or porn, just soft and careful and he can’t get enough of it. Oliver gathers the courage to place his hands on Jesse’s shoulders, bringing them closer.

 

Jesse breaks the kiss but stays close. They both lick their lips unconsciously. “Is this _just_ because I’m a boy?” he asks, sounding wary. His scent changes into something Oliver immediately dislikes, tasting the fear on his tongue.

 

Oliver swallows, but doesn’t break the eye contact. “No. I don’t think so.”

 

“Oh.” Jesse breaks into a bright, wide smile and then presses his lips against Oliver’s again, this time opening them carefully, prompting Oliver to do the same.

 

It’s somehow better than the other kisses and Oliver feels dizzy with it, grip tightening on Jesse’s shoulders. Oliver moans involuntarily, more turned on than he’s ever been in his life. He breaks the kiss, embarrassed again with his lack of control, panting for breath. “I want to do that forever,” he blurts out, then claps a hand over his mouth.

 

“I’m not, uh, against that.” Jesse shrugs, blushing. He rubs the back of his neck, which Oliver can see is reddening.

 

“You’re not?” Oliver asks hopefully.

 

“No, definitely not.” Jesse shrugs, movement still stilted with awkwardness. “I’ve been, um, thinking about it for… a while.”

 

“I’m an idiot.” Oliver declares bluntly, all the clues finally clicking in his head.

 

“Just a little bit,” Jesse teases.

 

“Brandon _told me_ you like me. Oh my god.” Oliver slaps a hand against his forehead a few times.

 

Jesse laughs. “I wanted to kill him.”

 

“I’m so happy I don’t have siblings,” Oliver says emphatically. “I’m an _idiot_. A huge fucking dumbass. Why do you even like me?”

 

“I like you because of a lot of things,” Jesse says with a smile. “But I’m not gonna give you like, a list or something. You’re enough of an asshole as is.”

 

“Gee, thanks. Very romantic declaration.” Oliver scowls.

 

“Who said anything about romance?” Jesse says defensively.

 

“Dude, you were raised by Scott McCall and Kira Yukimura, you are fooling no one.” Oliver snorts, rolling his eyes.

 

“Kissing privileges revoked, from now on, five dollars each,” Jesse huffs.

 

“Joke’s on you because you just admitted you’re gonna keep kissing me.” Oliver leans in for a peck on the lips just to prove a point. “Put that one on my tab.” He grins, satisfied with himself. Jesse just shoves him away, but gently. Oliver bites his bottom lip, then licks it because it tastes like them. “You wanna maybe keep going? Find someplace we can maybe… sit?” he offers carefully. Jesse grins and stretches his neck as he shifts back, then takes off in a sprint. “Dude, not cool!” Oliver shouts after him, then runs to catch up.

 

They stop again ten minutes later, after Oliver tackles Jesse to the ground. It brings an exciting kind of tension that Oliver is curious about but not brave enough to explore. He clears his throat, grin shrinking a bit as he climbs off of Jesse slowly. He stands back up and offers a hand to Jesse, who takes it, letting him pull him to his feet. Jesse doesn’t let go of his hand when he starts running again. They run and stop and kiss a few more times, the forest darkening around them as the sun starts to set, and they don’t notice night falling until a howl pierces through the forest. Oliver pales. “Shit, that’s my dad! I was supposed to be home before he was!”

 

Jesse barks a laugh, shaking his head. “You guys are so weird.” He kisses Oliver again for a long moment, leaving Oliver dazed, gaze unfocused. “Let’s go,” Jesse says simply, then takes Oliver’s hand again and starts running. “We’re pretty close to your house anyway.”

 

Scott is waiting beside his car when they get back to the house. He looks a little displeased but also curious, head tilted to the side. Derek is standing on the porch, arms crossed over his chest and eyebrows raised expectantly.

 

“I thought dad told you to be back before I was.”

 

“Sorry, we lost track of time,” Oliver says lightly, shrugging.

 

Derek’s mouth twitches like he wants to smile, but he bites his cheek to stop it. “Right. Dinner’s ready. Say bye,” he says and turns to walk inside.

 

“Uh. Um.” Oliver stutters. Scott looks up at the tree tops, trying to pretend he’s not there. After a few minutes of tense silence, both Oliver and Jesse glancing at Scott like they’re hoping he’ll disappear, he eventually just gets in the car.

 

“I’ll text you,” Jesse says earnestly, smiling.

 

“We always text.” Oliver blinks, confused.

 

“You’re so dense, jesus.” Jesse shakes his head. “Bye, Ollie,” he says quietly, touching his fingers to Oliver’s carefully.

 

“Bye,” Oliver says dazedly. Jesse just smiles at him again and gets in the front seat of his dad’s car. Oliver watches them leave then walks inside.

 

Dinner is already waiting on the table, Stiles sitting next to it looking like he’s about to burst. Derek sits across from him, pretending he’s not about to bounce out of his own seat. Oliver pretends he can’t tell and sits in his usual chair to start serving himself. Nobody else moves, until Stiles caves.

 

“Did you make out? Please say yes,” he says eagerly.

 

“Yes,” Oliver admits quietly, rolling his eyes when Stiles crows victoriously and Derek slaps his hand on the table and fist-pumps.

 

“Yes!!! Proud of you, puppy. Score!” Stiles says excitedly, high-fiving Derek.

 

Oliver makes a face. “Don’t ruin it.”

 

“I’m allowed to celebrate my kid getting his first boyfriend, and you can’t ruin that for _me_ ,” Stiles counters, clapping a hand on Oliver’s shoulder.

 

“So you’re not mad I was late?” Oliver challenges.

 

“You get a pass tonight but you get hanged next time,” Stiles warns.

 

“How are you this paranoid?” Oliver asks incredulously. “This town is the single most boring town in the world.”

 

“That’s because I’ve scared every supernatural threat away from here.” Stiles shrugs. “I approve who comes through, who stays.”

 

“Isn’t that the alpha’s job?” Oliver asks. Derek snorts, amused. They’ve started teaching Oliver wolf pack traditions this year. As the only born, pure wolf in the territory, he’s going to be the next alpha. Jesse and Brandon, being mixed, won’t be able to take that mantle. They’ll merge packs eventually.

 

“Usually, yes. But, since both alphas of this territory have terrible judgement, and I’m the best at everything, we agreed it’s best if I’m in charge of it.”

 

“You’re just bossy,” Derek corrects.

 

“No, you’re both scared of me,” Stiles counters.

 

“I am _not_ scared of you!”

 

“Yes, you are,” Oliver argues, bored. “And so is Scott. Scott more than you, though.”

 

“Scott’s known me longer,” Stiles points out. “Therefore he knows better.”

 

Oliver laughs. “So are you gonna give Jesse the scary dad talk?”

 

“Absolutely not, of the two of you, you’re more dangerous.” Stiles says with his mouth full. “So you better be the perfect teenage boyfriend, or I’ll be mad. Or worse, disappointed. That’s my godson. Besides, Jesse’s perfectly aware I’m a scary dad.”

 

“Thank you for the vote of confidence,” Oliver bites out.

 

“You’re gonna be fine,” Derek says reassuringly, smiling.

 

“Yeah, I’m just messing with you,” Stiles ruffles Oliver’s hair. “You’re gonna do just fine.”

**Author's Note:**

> I'm still itsaseasonalthing on tumblr so you can come talk to me if you feel like it :D


End file.
